On the Sands of Oblivion
by chris'cut
Summary: ON HIATUS. Two somewhat estranged brothers find themselves weaving special memories on a mysterious island where everything is meant to be left behind, forgotten like the sands of oblivion. A Conrart x Wolfram fan fiction.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Kyou Kara Maoh!_ or any of its characters. I do not make money from these writings.

**Warnings**: yaoi (malexmale), incest in later chapters

**Beta-reader**: none

**Author's Note:** For Anna, who has inspired me to write about a pairing I never would have considered in the past but has now grown fond of. This ConWolf story is for you, my friend.

**On the Sands of Oblivion **

(Chapter One)

"…_for better or for worse, it's just you and me."_

OooooooooO

The last war of the century was over. There were many casualties. Those who survived were left with permanent scars, scars of memories of lost loved ones. Even the victorious, formidable swordsman of the nation called Shin Makoku was not immune to the harsh reality. Commander Conrart Weller's wound ran deeper than anyone was led to believe. The death of his beloved, dearest friend, the benevolent Susannah Julia von Wincott, was the birth of nothingness in him. Shortly after Julia was laid to rest, the Great One had yet another task for him: he was to transport her soul to its next vessel on Earth.

"Lord Weller, take me with you," said Wolfram von Bielefeld, Conrart's sixty-five-year-old brother, with a voice to match the green eyes that bore determination. "It is my greatest desire to see the world they call Earth," he added matter-of-factly, as if such statement would assure a positive response.

His youngest brother's most unexpected plea brought a smile to Conrart's sullen face. Since the day the proud full-blooded demon learned of Conrart's human lineage, their conversations were kept to a minimum, limited to the necessary, and requests unheard of. Given any other day, he would have taken the opportunity to close the distance that had widened over the years between them. But today his heart felt heavier than before. No matter how much he wanted to hold on to it longer, he was finally letting go of Julia's soul, along with his most treasured memories of her.

"It would be unwise to take you along," Conrart replied sternly, not wanting to give the boy false hopes. "The Earth is filled with humans. You'll only get in the way and make sordid remarks about them. I cannot fail in this task and do not want to hear another word from you about this; my decision is final."

With that, Conrart left for Earth, leaving Wolfram behind to sulk in the confines of Covenant Castle. He did not particularly want to spend any time with his half-human, half-demon elder brother, Conrart. What he merely wanted was to get away from their mother's and eldest brother's protection.

Although Wolfram was a soldier with an authentic von Bielefeld military uniform, he had been exempted from the wars his brothers had fought. Seasickness hindered him from exploring the world beyond the vast blue ocean. There was a long list of reasons for Wolfram to yearn for adventure, but no one seemed genuinely concerned for his welfare. Admired for his stunning appearance and shunned for his feisty personality, Wolfram was regarded no more than a priceless painting on the wall. Even for just a while, he wanted to feel alive, and if Conrart was not willing to give him a hand, he would still find a way to escape from the glass shelter called Covenant Castle.

Upon Conrart's return from Earth, Wolfram noticed that he had been leaving the castle grounds more frequently than usual. This aroused his curiosity immensely. One bleak afternoon, he decided to follow him.

When the guards asked the young prince where he was headed, he simply replied, "Lord Weller asked me to accompany him. Didn't you notice him pass by just a while ago? Get out of my way now or I'll hold your meddling responsible for my delay!"

The blond-haired prince spoke with fire in his eyes that the guards were forced to believe his words and let him through the gates. Wolfram rode swiftly in order to catch up with Conrart. Once he spotted the familiar brown hair, he donned his hooded cloak. He followed his brother in stealth as he passed through the cobblestone streets of town.

Upon reaching the port, Conrart dismounted from his horse; Wolfram did the same from a distance. He saw Conrart talking to an old man, who was either the owner or caretaker of a small sailboat docked at the pier. He couldn't hear the words exchanged, but he saw Conrart handing over a large duffel bag to the man. Wolfram recognized the object: it was Conrart's emergency bag, usually filled with supplies and clothing. He was almost certain what Conrart was up to: he intended to depart without informing their eldest brother, Gwendal, or anyone else in Covenant Castle for that matter. Wolfram's heartbeat quickened with excitement. He could not allow Conrart to have this freedom and adventure all by himself; he had to find a way to join him.

As soon as Conrart left, Wolfram approached the old man.

"Excuse me, kind man. Has my brother been here yet?" Wolfram then described Conrart's appearance. The man nodded in response. "Darn! I was delayed again. My brother utterly detests my tardiness. What time did he say we were sailing? If I don't show up on time, he'll leave without me."

The old man scratched his beard as he said, "When I advised him to bring someone along because of the oncoming storm tonight I didn't think he'd ask the help of a boy."

Wolfram grinned as he racked his brain for the perfect lie. "Just between you and me, I have demon blood and able to manipulate the wind. I can calm the storm and seas, and that is why my brother chose to take me along."

The old man was convinced by the innocent face before him. He thought it was best to remind the boy that his brother intended to depart before midnight.

With the information he needed, Wolfram returned to the castle and prepared his own duffel bag. He left a note on the bedside table for Gwendal, merely stating he was with Conrart and without bothering to supply further details on where or how they were traveling.

Slipping out of the castle grounds was not easy. He had to create a small fire at the stable near the main gates to distract the guards.

Once he reached the pier, he stealthily approached the small boat and emptied one of the wooden boxes containing supplies, lifesaver, and ropes. He slipped himself inside and gulped down a few drops of the medicine he was forced to take whenever he was ill. It never failed to make him drowsy, and it was exactly what he needed to best the seasickness he would feel once they set sail. He soon fell asleep waiting for midnight and his brother to arrive.

OooooooooO

Wolfram roused at the churning of his stomach. He blinked a few times in the dark and remembered where he was: in a wooden box on the sailboat. As soon as the motion and smell of sea hit his senses, his dinner that evening came out in a gush. He covered his mouth to silence himself and inwardly cursed the wretched tiny boat that rocked to no end. Just when he thought he was going to choke on his vomit, the lid of the box was lifted.

"What the hell are you doing there?" Conrart demanded, wrinkling his nose at the nasty stench coming from the box.

Wolfram barely managed to smile before heaving the rest of the contents of his stomach. He hoisted a leg over the box in an attempt to get out, but ended up falling backwards instead. He had been crouching for far too long and his legs were cramped. He raised his arms for Conrart to grab, but his brother merely turned his back on him.

The wind was picking up. Wolfram saw Conrart desperately trying to tighten and still the sail sheet which luffed uncontrollably. Wolfram regulated his breathing and focused to get his mind off the revolution in his insides. He then lugged himself over to help his brother.

Lightning lit the starless sky and several long, deep rolling sounds came from a distance. The water continued to swell, threatening to capsize the small boat.

"Why did you choose to sail now when you knew there was an oncoming storm?" Wolfram whined, earning a glare from Conrart.

"Must you be such a pain at all times? I neither invited you nor were you welcome to come along. Now I have to look after both of us!"

Before Wolfram could reply, an enormous crest of wave lapped over them. The water forced Wolfram to stumble backward, hitting his head against the wooden box. He heard Conrart shouting amidst the howling wind.

"Grab the rope and lifesavers in the box," Conrart hollered, holding on to the mast of the boat. "Now!"

While Wolfram frantically searched through the box, he suddenly remembered that he had thrown the contents—including the rope and lifesavers—at the pier to make room for himself when he sneaked into the boat.

"They're not here!" Wolfram shouted.

"Darn it!" growled Conrart. "Use your eyes, they were there this afternoon."

"They're not here. I... I threw them out earlier!" Wolfram confessed.

In response, Conrart cursed at the top of his lungs. He then untied his belt, tossed it to Wolfram, and ordered, "Remove your belt, knot them tightly together, and tie one end to your wrist. Now!"

Wolfram did as instructed. He was about to hand over the belt to Conrart when another tall wave came crashing down on them, capsizing the small boat.

They were thrown into the raging waters.

Wolfram found himself sinking fast; his water-filled boots were dragging him further down. In the dark ocean, he fumbled for the clasp of his footwear and removed them one after the other. After seconds of what seemed like an eternity, Wolfram struggled to reach the surface, but he had swallowed too much water that he ended up flailing, unable to float as his lungs desperately sought for air. Just when he thought he had met his end, there was a tugging at his wrist. Soon his head bobbed at the surface of the water.

After Wolfram had cleared his throat and filled his lungs with much needed oxygen, he and Conrart started swimming toward the capsized boat to turn it upright. Apparently, luck was against them. Lightning struck once again. This time it hit the boat directly, splitting it into two burning halves.

Rain started beating down and the flames were gradually extinguished.

Conrart headed toward the remains of the boat. Amidst the whipping wind and turbulent waters, he shouted, "We need to stay afloat until this storm lets up. Grab on to any large piece that you find and place your sword over it as well—you won't be able to swim for long with that thing weighing you down."

Obeying his brother, Wolfram soon had himself floating with his arms atop a wooden plank and his sword belt secured to his free wrist. Though exhausted, Wolfram smiled weakly as he amused himself with the _other_ belt around his _other _wrist: he felt like a pet swimming behind his master who was guiding him by a leash.

Because the wind continued to blow from all directions, they eventually stopped swimming and allowed the current to guide them. Neither of them remembered what happened next as they fell asleep long before the storm had ceased.

OooooooooO

With a crooked cane in hand, a bearded old man with disheveled, dull, sandy hair shambled toward the two unconscious figures ashore. Up close, his gray eyes took in the sight before him: a blond was sprawled face down; beside him was a young man with brown hair and a sword in his hand; and both were dressed in what looked like military uniforms. Fastened around the blond's pale wrists were belts, one of which was attached to a sheathed sword.

The old man settled his cane on the sand and grabbed thick strands of blond hair entangled in seaweeds. He turned the head to the side. With his rough hand, the old man brushed off sand from the face and regarded the sculptured eyebrows, long and thick eyelashes, pointed nose, full lower lips, and the proud chin. He hadn't seen such a sight for hundreds of years and couldn't resist the temptation to explore the rest of the youth's assets.

Wolfram heard the sound of waves laving the shore, birds chirping, and rustling of leaves. He could feel the warmth of the sun and gentle breeze caressing his cheek and hair. He also felt the kneading… on his backside!

His emerald-green eyes flung wide open. He saw Conrart unconscious beside him. He looked behind and found a bearded old man, who was grinning, chuckling, and squeezing his buttocks!

Wolfram flipped over on his back and barked, "Remove your filthy hands off me, pervert!"

The old man frowned. Instead of stepping back from the indignant stranger, he groped the youthful chest.

Wolfram's eyes widened in disbelief: the old man was feeling him up! He shoved the old man and sent him falling on his back. He then got up quickly and unsheathed his sword.

"Who are you and where are we? Answer me!" he demanded from the old man, who was eying the edge of the blade pointed at his chest. Despite the tone he chose to use, he knew it was pointless to threaten the man; if anything, he was probably the only person who could help them get out of the island.

The old man pushed away the blade with his crooked cane. "My, my, you're a feisty one, eh? Too bad you're not a woman after all; otherwise, I could put up with that attitude."

Wolfram's gaze swept the horizon. "Where is this place?"

"It's not necessary for you to know," said the old man. He got to his feet and brushed off the sand from his tattered frock. "Even if you manage to survive the creatures, you shall never end up here a second time." He then picked up his cane, turned on his heel, and shuffled away from them.

Wolfram watched the man no more than a few breaths before shifting his gaze to Conrart.

"Lord Weller!" Wolfram called out. "Lord Weller!" he repeated. When his patience grew thin, he crossed his arms over his chest and prodded the unconscious figure with his bare toes. "Lord Weller!"

When there was no response, not even the slightest movement, Wolfram knelt beside his brother and fumbled for a pulse he couldn't seem to locate. Frowning, he pressed his ear close to the slightly parted lips for a few seconds. He immediately panicked when hardly any air came through. He tried to use his healing magic, the way Julia von Wincott had taught him long ago, but was unable to summon any demon power in his current exhausted state.

"Lord Weller!" he cried out, shaking the man roughly by the shoulders.

Not allowing his worst fears to cloud his thinking, he frantically tried to recall how Gisela, Shin Makoku's best healer, resuscitated the unconscious. He then felt for the hollow in Conrart's ribcage, positioned his right hand near the area, and placed his left hand over the other. He pressed the heels of his palms down, pushing firmly several times. His breathing grew rapid, his senses all frenzied. For the first time in his life, he was truly _afraid_.

"Arggghhh! Oh, for Shinou's sake, wake up!" he barked, pumping Conrart's chest.

Fighting back the tears of frustration, he stopped with the compressions and moved to Conrart's face. He slid a hand under the mass of chestnut hair, and then he felt something: there was a swelling, a bump, at the base of the head. He carefully tilted the head back and gently pushed down the chin. After removing seaweed, sand, and other particles inside the mouth, he lowered his lips to his brother's.

OooooooooO

Conrart gazed tenderly at the woman approaching. Even from a distance, he recognized the outline of the white and blue tresses highlighted by the brilliance of the sun behind her and the graceful stride that belonged to no other. He wanted to close the space between them sooner, but couldn't seem to move any part of his body. He could only watch as she headed toward him. As soon as his eyes locked with the unseeing azure-blue orbs, the corners of her mouth gently curved upward. It was the sole smile that never failed to warm his heart.

"We finally meet again, my Julia," he said softly.

"But we have never parted: I'll always be here," Julia said, pressing a delicate hand over his left chest.

"After I accomplished my mission on Earth, I had expected, though never fully accepted, that the new owner of your soul will have no memories of us."

"Is that why you've been in despair? Braving the seas amidst an expected storm is not like you. The Sir Weller I love would never abandon his precious life. He had always endured the pain which only made him stronger."

He cast his eyes down, guilty as accused. The woman knew him more than any other being in the world. "Forgive me if I've disappointed you, I only wished to see you once more."

Julia lifted his chin. The unseeing but warm eyes seemed to gaze into him. "We've had countless moments of bliss, why do our memories bring you much pain?"

"Destiny had bound you to another and time didn't allow me to express what you meant to me," he replied in a cracked voice.

"Your unvoiced feelings have long touched me deeply. They remain irreplaceable in my heart. I departed without regrets, grateful to Shinou for allowing our paths to cross in the short time I was given."

"But you were taken away so soon and—" he paused abruptly, disliking the whining tone coming from him. "Julia, we're together again now. Let me stay with you."

Julia's eyes brimmed with sadness… or was it disappointment? "At the moment, someone needs you more. You've yet to rediscover each other. He's hurting, while I'm content. He's lost in his emotions, while I'm at peace. You'll always have me, but he remains alone. He's afraid… of losing you. Go back to him. He needs you and will give back what you have lost."

Baffled, he stared blankly at Julia. Then, Julia stroked the back of his hair. When her fingers lowered his chin, he gazed at the enticing shapely mouth. He inclined his head and placed his arms around her. He leaned closer to the soft lips and enclosed them with his.

She was so warm and tasted like honey… and somewhat… salty? She smelled so fresh, like flowers in bloom with a trail of… citrus, maybe? In his arms, she felt so soft, fragile, delicate… and… bony? Their kiss soon became more passionate as though she craved for more, grazing, almost savagely, his lips with her small teeth. He could even hear her utter moans of passion.

"...rrrr!"

Conrart could only grin against her mouth. He had never expected their first kiss to be so… wild.

"…errrr!"

He opened his eyes briefly and found her smiling. She whispered in between kisses, "I shall see you again, my friend."

Much to his dismay, she started to push him away. He instinctively pulled her back and reclaimed her lips. She started pounding on his chest, but he could no longer see her face, which had turned into a bright warm light in front of him. He couldn't let her go now, he decided, clutching her desperately despite her resistance.

Then, she slapped him… hard.

He blinked several times, squinting at the blinding light. Her calm azure-blue eyes had turned into huge emerald-green orbs; her face was framed, not with long white and blue tresses, but with wavy blond locks; and her happy face was replaced with a scowl. He shook his head, hoping for his now struggling Julia's face to return to his vision.

She slapped him again and growled, "Lord Wellerrrrr!"

Then, she shoved him forcefully, freeing herself from his grasp.

OooooooooO

Conrart sat up in a daze and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was greeted by an endless blue ocean and scorching sun. A brief glance to the right gave him a glimpse of lush green trees scattered along the mountains. He sensed someone glaring. Thus he looked to the left where he found a heaving young man with balled fists at his sides: it was Wolfram.

Conrart then remembered where he was the night before. He was on a small sailboat when he headed right into the eye of a storm. While he was trying to steady his sail, he heard a retching sound from the back. It was then that he discovered that his youngest brother had stowed himself inside the box of supplies. In the blink of an eye, one mishap led to another until the boat was capsized. He recalled swimming the rough waters with Wolfram behind him on makeshift rafts, wooden planks from remains of their lightning-struck boat. The young Mazoku's wrists were tied to belts, with one end in his hand to ensure they didn't drift away from each other. The last thing he remembered was that something hit the back of his head. Now it appeared that they were washed ashore in some island unknown to him.

Conrart heaved a sigh: the least ideal person to be stuck in an island with was seething before him. "What are you upset about? You called this upon yourself by joining uninvited," he grimly reminded the infuriated blond.

"Hah!" Wolfram spat on the white sand, and then wiped his mouth with the torn sleeve of his blue von Bielefeld uniform. "Have you gone nuts? Why did you grope me all of a sudden?"

Conrart returned the hostile glare with a blank stare. Wolfram was clearly upset over something he wasn't aware of. However, concerns of his youngest brother were always trivial, and their current state demanded more attention. He stood up and brushed the sands off his brown Weller uniform. He twisted to the side to reach his back and flinched from the throbbing at the back of his head.

Noticing the pain etched in his brother's face, Wolfram's annoyance was held in abeyance. "I will not ask you where we are or how we'll find our way back to Shin Makoku," he said. "I'm well aware you're just as clueless as I am."

Rubbing his head with a palm, Conrart gave a weak smile. "Good. I'd truly appreciate it if you manage to act the soldier that you are and not Gwendal's adorable brat while we're on this island."

Snorting, Wolfram retorted, "Hnf! Gwendal never gave me the chance to prove that I'm as reliable as any soldier in his unit. Ah, well, that's certainly not my loss. If I was allowed to participate in the battlefield, I could've ended the war quickly, and you would've been able to return before Julia passed away."

"You are not to mention her name as casually—ever again," Conrart warned sternly, his hazel eyes hard and cold.

Although Wolfram wasn't afraid of his brother, or anyone for that matter, he didn't see the point in arguing. All his life people thought little of his opinion. They regarded him as spoiled and incapable, lacking in comparison with the impressive swordsmanship of Conrart and the infallible leadership of Gwendal. It suddenly occurred to him that this was an opportunity to prove his worth. If he found a way to get them out of the island, Gwendal would surely be impressed and maybe grant him his own private army.

"I suppose we should start by looking for solid shelter before we gather materials for a new boat," Wolfram suggested. "Fortunately, we still have our swords and I happen to have ample fire Maryoku so we won't have any problem surviving this seemingly forsaken place."

Glancing around him, Conrart nodded in agreement. Despite Wolfram's previous troubled state, he appeared to have a clear mind and disposition.

"Actually," Wolfram said as an afterthought, "an old man was here earlier. So this place may not be completely abandoned. Most likely there are other inhabitants."

When Conrart merely arched an eyebrow, Wolfram continued:

"I questioned where this island is and he rudely stated something similar to _'It's not necessary for you to know. Even if you survive the creatures, you shall never return a second time__.'_ Then, he left and I tried to revive you, so I didn't notice which direction he went."

Wolfram regarded his brother, who continued to exert pressure on the back of his head.

Upon seeing the concern in the emerald-green eyes, Conrart immediately dropped his hand to the side and turned to walk away. "Well? Shall we look for shelter now?" he asked over his shoulder. "You must be famished after emptying your stomach last night. If we should encounter any creature with meat, we shan't hesitate to claim it as our meal."

Moving swiftly, Wolfram strode alongside his brother, glancing surreptitiously whenever he sensed the other wincing from sudden movements of the head. He suppressed the urge to show any concern. He hadn't been affectionate toward Conrart for some time, and it would feel awkward to start now.

OooooooooO

A thick growth of trees encompassed the seemingly vast shoreline. The imposing mountains behind the dense foliage appeared to be at a short distance from where they were. They hiked for a while in silence and stopped to take a drink from a bubbling brook.

Wiping the beads of sweat trickling down his face, Conrart said, "We might as well freshen up and wash our clothes; it's hard to tell when we'll stumble upon another body of freshwater."

"I gather your ideal temporary dwelling would be a cave, am I right?" Wolfram remarked before gulping down another mouthful of water from cupped hands.

"Yes. The leaves of these trees are large enough to provide shelter from the rain; however, they won't protect us from unknown wild animals the old man could have referred to," said Conrart. "You won't have to bear with our primitive lodging for long. It's fortunate that the mountains are abundant with trees: we shouldn't have any problems securing materials for a raft."

"Right now I'd give anything to encounter any creature. I'm starving," Wolfram admitted.

Wolfram then stripped out of his garment. There were long rips along the seams of both sleeves of his blue uniform as well as his white inner shirt. Since he no longer had any boots, he intended to use the blue top as his footwear. Sighing, he immersed his clothes into the running water to remove the dried particles of sand.

Crouching in the middle of the shallow brook, they quietly cleansed themselves. Wolfram studied the way his brother briskly scooped water with his hands. Conrart vigorously washed away the dirt from his hair, reaching the back of his head with the slightest hint of pain on his face.

Wolfram averted his gaze upon sensing the hazel eyes looking his direction. "I... I suppose I should use some healing magic on you later, after we've had a meal," he said almost shyly. "It didn't work earlier, and I presume it's because of lack of energy."

"I'm fine. This is nothing but a bump that will heal overnight." Conrart offered a reassuring smile. "I appreciate the concern though."

Wolfram lowered his head. "Don't get me wrong. I refuse to be stuck in this island alone; therefore, I can't have anything happen to you until we get out of here. After all, for better or for worse, it's just you and me."

When Conrart chuckled, Wolfram bit his lower lip from smiling back. It had been a long time since he had heard that soft laughter. After he discovered Conrart's human lineage, the man had turned from being his favorite, closest companion, to nothing but a detested half brother. Even though Conrart merely dismissed his erratic attitude, which switched from snide remarks to nonchalance, Wolfram silently resented him for not taking the initiative to patch things up. Thus they grew further apart with the passing of time, so much that they became akin to strangers. To make matters worse, ever since the war ended and after Julia's death, the man had changed from pleasant to somber and, lately, even displayed a considerable lack of patience—especially toward him.

"Don't move," Conrart suddenly ordered in a calm yet firm voice.

Baffled, Wolfram skimmed his eyes around without moving his head. Conrart cautiously stood up from his squatting position and drew closer to him. Wolfram gasped when he felt something cold crawling from the small of his back up to his spine.

"Is it a snake?" Wolfram asked quietly. Feigning courage, he suggested, "I can try using my fire Maryoku now and burn it."

"Be still and keep quiet," Conrart warned in a hushed tone.

Wolfram closed his eyes and tried to suppress his breathing as the slimy creature inched up his nape. He heard the swishing behind his ear, and shortly felt a heavy weight around his neck. With his eyelids shut, he imagined the length of the intruder with part of its body still lingering on his bare buttocks, and the thickness of the creature that extended from his chin to collarbone. He then wondered how Conrart intended to handle the situation without compromising either of their safety. It was too risky to use his insufficient fire Maryoku: if he failed, it would only aggravate the creature.

Wolfram parted his lips at the constricting weight around his throat. He tried to breathe through his mouth but found it more difficult with every passing second as the tightening increased.

Conrart—who decided it was impossible to grab the black snake by its neck—grabbed his sword and rejoined his brother held captive by the creature. He saw the reptile's body encircle the slender neck; his brow furrowed when it lingered there. When he noticed all color dropping from Wolfram's face, he realized that his brother was suffocating.

"Hey!" Conrart called out in an attempt to distract the snake.

Conrart was taken aback when the creature stared back at him. The eyes of the creature were indescribably haunting: each orb was as white as snow that continuously swirled toward the center.

Snapping out of his stupor, Conrart held out his hand and motioned forth the snake with his fingers. When the creature refused to move, he drew closer with his sword. A loud warning hiss came from its mouth, making Conrart instinctively hide the blade behind him.

Holding his breath, Conrart moved his outstretched hand forward until it was mere inches away from the eerie white eyes. As soon as the reptile darted toward his fingers, Conrart stealthily drew his sword while retracting his hand swiftly. In a single sweeping motion, the sharp blade from underneath severed the snake's head.

Blood spurted from the decapitated creature, turning the clear water to a shade of red. He removed the heavy body from Wolfram's neck and tossed it to the ground.

He looked at the pale boy gasping for air. "Are you all right?"

Still panting, Wolfram glanced up and found Conrart studying him with concern. The former nodded, accepting the hand offered to raise himself up.

Motioning his head to the long, relatively thick, headless reptile on the ground, Conrart said, "There's our first meal for the day. I hope you've enough Maryoku to light up a twig."

OooooooooO

After a filling meal of roasted snake, Wolfram and Conrart continued with their journey in search of shelter. The sun was disappearing below the horizon when they finally hiked the steep slopes of a rocky mountain. The temperature drastically dropped lower as they went higher, and the cold wind blew constantly, permeating through their thin inner shirts—as both used their tattered uniform tops to cover their feet.

The first cave they stumbled upon was similar to a tunnel with two wide openings, hence, exposing them to any wandering creatures during their slumber. Afterward, they entered a cavern which was more like a labyrinth with its winding passages. Before nightfall, they found a small cave which was to Conrart's liking; however, Wolfram insisted that he preferred a place where the wind didn't constantly threaten to snuff the fire during the night. Dusk, however, came too quickly, and they ended up returning to the cave that Conrart had deemed suitable.

They gathered as much wood as they could carry in their arms and settled inside their new shelter. Wolfram immediately summoned his rejuvenated Maryoku and created a fire to warm them.

"What's the plan now, Lord Weller?" Wolfram asked as he joined his brother by the entrance of the cave.

"Tomorrow we gather thick vines that will serve as rope and cut down trees for our raft. I noticed several tall, thin trunks near the first cave we found. Those would be ideal."

"So we build our raft here and bring it to shore when it's completed?" Wolfram asked.

"Yes," Conrart confirmed, looking up at the crescent moon. "It'll be a waste of effort if we build one close to the shore and have it ruined by harsh elements or unforeseen enemies."

"Is Big Brother aware that you've gone sailing?" Wolfram voiced the question he had wanted to ask since he sneaked into the small sailboat.

"Gwendal has no idea; no one does," Conrart replied. He then turned to look at Wolfram. "Did you inform anyone you were coming with me?"

"I left a letter for Big Brother saying I'd keep you company."

Conrart sighed. "Great. Now no one will bother to search for us."

"They knew there was oncoming storm so maybe they'd get worried and..." Wolfram voice faltered as he pursed his lips in thought. After a while he said, "Ah, but nobody would even think you'd do something so foolish as to sail last night. Darn!"

"Why did you have to come with me?"

"Why did you have to sail last night of all times?"

Their questions ran into each other simultaneously.

"I joined you because I was tired of life at Covenant Castle," Wolfram muttered.

Exhaling deeply once more, Conrart chose to remain silent.

"Were you trying to throw your life away because of despair?" the blond boldly asked his companion, who quietly stared at the stars surrounding the smiling moon.

Conrart turned to search the innocent eyes and grinned. "Do you realize that today you've spoken to me more than any other time?"

Wolfram felt heat rise to his cheeks. "You're evading my question."

Conrart stretched his arms above his head and yawned. He stood up and said, "Does my reason really matter to you? I thought you no longer wanted to have anything to do with me. Why bother your pretty head with something so unimportant in your life?"

Just before the war began, Wolfram had come to accept that it was not Conrart's fault he was born half-human, half-demon, but pride prevented the former from bridging the wide gap between them. Conrart's passive attitude only fueled his determination to remain stubborn. Deep down, however, Wolfram waited for Conrart to show signs that he still cared: that his hurtful words angered his older brother; and that his indifference made him sad. However, Conrart failed such expectations and allowed matters to continue as they were.

Tonight, his older brother's taunting remarks proved something else: Conrart—the only person he used to be certain would love him unconditionally—had finally given up on him.

Wolfram shuddered as a cold wind blew inside the cave, threatening to extinguish the fire. He stood up, turned around, and found Conrart lying on the stone floor with his back against the flames. He mirrored his brother's position, but faced the entrance of the cave instead.

Wolfram allowed their grueling hike to take its toll on his frame. He welcomed the slumber that claimed him as soon as his heavy lids shut.

OooooooooO

"Wolfram, wake up!"

Wolfram roused to the tremors on the ground, accompanied by a loud rumble. He sensed a hand on his shoulder and saw Conrart, whose mouth was moving, though he could barely make out the words with all the deep, rolling sound coming from all directions. Loose rocks fell to the ground as the roof of the cave shook from what seemed like heavy pounding above it.

"Secure your sword. We have to get out of here before this thing collapses," Conrart said.

Wolfram nodded and grabbed his sword. Upon reaching the entrance of the cave, they stopped in their tracks at the sight below: herds of cattle, zebras, and elephants were trampling on the tall, overgrown grass; a multitude of wild boars and pigs were scampering as fast as their stout legs would allow; a pack of wolves were running along the steep slopes of the mountain; horses galloped as if they were being chased; a pride of lions, tigers, jaguars, and several others from the feline group, rushed to their destination with stealth and agility; and a gang of buffalo, elks and other four-legged animals, great and small, seemed to be headed in the same direction with haste.

As soon as Wolfram stepped out of the cave, Conrart grabbed him and pushed him down. Wolfram yelped in pain as his elbow and backside hit the rocky ground. He cursed endlessly while he struggled to free himself, but Conrart's arms remained firm around his head and shoulders. It was only when he looked up that he ceased all movement. He saw creatures similar to dragons hovering above them, and several others walking on top of their cave before soaring to the sky.

"I wonder why and where they're congregating at this time," he whispered to Conrart, who was still on top of him.

"That's not important now," Conrart said under his breath, looking straight ahead. "When I count to three, I'll pull you up along with me, and then we'll run in the opposite direction, understood?"

"What?"

"One…"

"We're going to meet the stampede head on?"

"Two…"

Conrart yanked Wolfram's wrist and raised them both from the ground in one fluid motion.

"Three!"

Wolfram allowed himself to be dragged by his brother and ran down the steep slopes, ducking from time to time to avoid contact with the winged four-legged creatures flying above. He glanced over his shoulder and found three drooling red-eyed wolves chasing them. He then realized what they were escaping from. With much effort to remain calm, he began to summon his fire Maryoku.

"Cut that out! Now's not the time. You would only attract attention and there's too many of them to deal with," Conrart said as they continued to go down the rocky path.

Deeming the reason sensible, Wolfram was left with no other option than to follow Conrart's command. After a while, they heard a low sound, similar to a horn blowing, coming from the same direction the animals were headed.

When Wolfram glanced over his shoulder, he no longer perceived the wolves pursuing them earlier. Thus he jerked his wrist from Conrart's grasp and stopped running. With hands on knees, he tried to catch his breath. When his brother turned around, he pointed behind with his thumb. "They're gone," he explained.

Panting, Conrart looked around and found the place clear of animals. The island was silent once more, without a trace of the earlier commotion.

"Where do we go from here?" Wolfram asked, wincing from the pain coming from his poorly clad feet.

"Let's look for shelter nearby and spend the rest of the night there," Conrart replied.

Wolfram created a ball of fire on his palm to illuminate their path.

After searching for some time, they saw a tiny wooden door at the foot of a mountain. They knocked several times, but to no avail.

"Maybe it's been abandoned or maybe the owner got trampled on by the stampede," Wolfram suggested, hoping his brother would kick the door open.

Wolfram's patience grew thin as Conrart continued to rap his knuckles on the door courteously. Wolfram suddenly summoned a tiny fire dragon and burned the wooden barrier. Once the flames were extinguished on the stone ground, they crossed the threshold.

Once more, Wolfram created another ball of fire on his palm. They scanned the place and marveled at what they found: there was an irregularly shaped stone that protruded from the ground, with four wooden stools around it; a recessed area on the wall with logs; several odd-looking wooden boxes; tin cans, bowls, and bottles were scattered around the room; and on the floor was a long, flat, coarse piece of woven material.

Conrart walked up to the recessed spot in the stone wall that appeared similar to a hearth and touched the surface. "This is quite warm. Somebody must have used it recently."

"Then we might as well use it again," Wolfram said, throwing in more logs into the hearth and setting them ablaze.

Ignoring objections that followed, Wolfram made himself comfortable on the coarse floor mat. He removed the bloodied covering from his feet. He used healing magic to close the cuts on his soles.

After a while, Wolfram moved over to Conrart, who was sitting at the edge of the mat. "Let me fix yours," Wolfram offered.

"We should leave when you're done," Conrart said, closing his weary eyes and indulging in the soothing healing magic on his tired feet.

"I'm exhausted, Lord Weller. If somebody does live here, he couldn't possibility have gone out at this ungodly hour."

OooooooooO

Wolfram sat up startled. He was roused for the second time that night for the same reason as the first. The ground shook and a loud rumbling came from everywhere. He saw Conrart at the foot of the mattress, sitting with his back against the cold wall.

"They must be returning to their respective homes," Conrart calmly suggested.

"You're right," Wolfram said, lying on his back once more. "Let's just sleep and build that raft tomorrow so we can get out of this odd animal kingdom."

Wolfram inwardly smiled when he heard his brother chuckling. He thought that maybe something good would come out of getting stuck in an island with Conrart. When the tremors and noise died down, Wolfram found himself drowsing off and hoped that the next time he awoke would be daytime.

Apparently, luck was not on their side—and hadn't been for the last twenty-four hours. Not long after he had closed his eyes, Wolfram heard a familiar voice shouting at the top of his lungs.

"Intruders! How dare you burn my door!"

The old man with a crooked cane stood by the entrance, where there used to be a wooden panel.

"Get out of my abode!"

Quick on his feet, Conrart was the first to stand up. He lowered his head to the man and muttered apologies. The bearded man hit Conrart's side with his cane, moving him out of his way, and shambled toward Wolfram, who raised himself to a sitting position on the woven mat.

"You ingrates! Leave this place!" barked the old man as he started beating either side of Wolfram's arms with his crooked cane.

"Wha—ouch! What have you done—ow!—for us to be grateful?" Wolfram shouted back, while unsuccessfully avoiding the blows from the stick.

From behind, Conrart encircled both arms of the infuriated old man. "Wolfram, get out now!"

Kneading his tender arms, Wolfram glowered at the struggling man being restrained by Conrart. He contemplated on setting his beard on fire, but then decided against it, deeming the hermit was probably the only person who could supply them with information regarding the island. He grabbed the strips of cloth for his and Conrart's feet and trudged out of the cave.

As soon as Conrart joined Wolfram, the grumpy old man shouted, "Stay away from my home, you hear me? Find your own cave!"

Sneering, Wolfram muttered, "Don't hold your breath. I shall return in the morning."

Wolfram suddenly felt a sharp pain on his heel. He then bent forward to cover his feet. "I wonder why he called us _'ingrates,'_" he said, handing over the brown strips to Conrart. "What's there to be thankful for?"

"I have no idea," Conrart replied, looking over his shoulder, glancing in the direction of the old man's home. "Interesting. He seems to have a soft spot for wild boars."

"Hmm?" Wolfram asked, following Conrart's gaze. Under the faint light of the crescent moon, Wolfram saw the old man bending over to pat a brown, stout, short-legged animal with tusks. Both disappeared inside the cave shortly. "Hmph! So he prefers that thing's company instead of ours." A loud yawn escaped from Wolfram's lips. "Where do we go from here?"

"Let's spend what's left of the night at the first solid shelter we see, shall we?" Conrart suggested.

Walking side by side, they started exchanging views on what they had experienced during the night. When they fell asleep inside a tunnel, they no longer expected a peaceful rest, but nonetheless hoped that the next disturbance would come after sunrise.

OooooooooO

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

**On the Sands of Oblivion**

(Chapter Two)

"_He who hardens his heart to the one he resents yet love with every fiber of his being risks encountering the meaning of regret."_

OooooooooO

Conrart sensed a soft, gentle rubbing against the underside of his jaw and a faint breeze caressing his collarbone. He subconsciously put an arm around the weight pressed against his side, seeking further warmth. The corners of his mouth turned upward when he was embraced in return. He dared not open his eyes if this was another dream about his beloved Julia.

Then, he felt something wet trickling down his chest… and heard a soft snoring.

He slowly opened his eyes and found a mass of disheveled blond hair nuzzled against him. It was Wolfram, not Julia; it was reality, not a dream. Sighing, he removed the hand clutching his hip, cradled the back of his brother's head with his palm, and gently positioned the sleeping boy to rest against the wall of the tunnel they had spent the night in. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, regarding the drool on his chest with a chuckle.

He turned to his side and watched Wolfram's chest rise steadily with every breath. He then studied the aforementioned Mazoku's serene face: thick, long lashes created a shadow over the high cheekbones; the creamy skin was soiled with sand and soot; and the small, perfect teeth constantly nibbled on the full lower lip. It had been a while since he last watched his youngest brother during slumber. So long in fact that he had forgotten how such experience brought him tranquility; a reassurance that even if the world outside remained imperfect, there existed a bundle of joy who loved him and gazed at him with adoration.

Conrart then reminded himself firmly that the adoring gaze, however, was long gone, replaced with disgust, contempt, and sometimes even disappointment. Exhaling loudly, he abruptly ceased mulling over the past, and stood up to stretch his cramped figure.

Once outside their shelter, gauging from the sun that was veiled by dense clouds, he presumed it was still early morning. There was abundance of fruit trees, but considering what they had to accomplish, Conrart decided that they needed a more filling meal to start the day. With his sheathed sword, he set out in search for prey.

OooooooooO

Wolfram stirred from the sound of rolling thunder and a moist, tickling sensation from his feet. With eyes half closed, he found a boar, sniffing his cracked soles exposed from the poorly wrapped blue cloth.

"Shoo! Shoo!" he said to ward off the stout animal, who then stared at him while snorting. "Some ugly creature you are," he remarked as he observed the brown wild boar with a missing ear and a long, deep scar that ran diagonally from under its right eye to left cheek.

The boar started to nudge its tusks against Wolfram's soles, as if prodding him to his feet.

"Hmm? I see… Sorry, but you must find a playmate of your kind. Go," he said, glancing at either end of the tunnel. He was famished and assumed that Conrart had gone in search of food.

The wind carried the scent of wet soil and a low rumbling was heard from time to time. From where he sat, Wolfram could tell that it was raining over some parts of the island and would soon wash over their place as well. Because of this, he had no intention of leaving their shelter and decided it was best to wait for Conrart's return.

The brown boar began to snort louder, wriggling its stout form. Wolfram stared into the unsettled black eyes. He then threatened, "Unless you're willing to end up inside my stomach, you better shut that snotty snout of yours. Got that?"

Wolfram yelped as the boar poked his thigh with its tusks. He attempted to shove the animal off by slapping the thick, wrinkled neck. The sturdy boar, however, did not budge. Instead, it grunted and opened its wide mouth as if conveying a message to the boy who remained on the ground, leaning against the wall.

Wolfram, whose patience had worn thin, was about to kick the boisterous four-legged animal when he heard an eerie sound, similar to the hissing of wind except that it was lower, much stronger, and seemed to grow with every heartbeat. Upon turning his head toward the direction of the noise, he gaped wide-eyed in horror: a gush of raging water was headed his way at a speed that threatened to engulf everything in its way in a matter of seconds.

The loud snorting and another sharp nudge on the thigh snapped Wolfram out of shock, inciting him to action. He reached for his side, making sure his sword was still secured. He then scrambled to his feet and rushed outside the tunnel, which would soon be an underground stream.

Heavy rainfall started beating down, wetting the earth and making it difficult to tread, more so run, with his cloth covered feet. With adrenaline pumping throughout his body, Wolfram managed to ascend midway the rocky slope.

As water surged past his knees, he swayed to the side and clutched desperately at the nearest jutted rock above his head. Wolfram clung on to anything protruding in sight, while constantly fumbling for a firm foothold. As soon as he reached the top, he hoisted himself up and sprawled on his chest, panting on the sticky, soft, wet ground.

Amidst the sound of the billowing water, the splattering of rain on the leaves, and the hissing of wind, Wolfram heard a high-pitched, drawn-out cry. He crawled on all fours and cautiously peered over the edge of the slope. He saw the boar desperately trying to raise itself up. As soon as its black eyes noticed him, the boar squealed louder.

Wolfram extended a hand to grab one of the stout legs, but was unable to reach it. Aware that a stick would be useless because the boar would not be able to clasp it, he lowered his upper body further until he was able to get a firm grip on one limb. Using his legs and free arm, Wolfram began to retreat, moving out of his inclined position with the boar in his clutch.

Then, lightning struck at a most inopportune moment, startling them both. Wolfram almost lost his grip and had to use his free hand to secure the leg once more. He shortly realized his mistake when he began slipping down the slope along with the boar, which gazed up at him wide-eyed.

As the downpour messed up his vision, Wolfram used his elbows to feel for anything he could use to stop their descent. For a moment, he considered letting go of the heavy weight in his hands, but the trust in the dark eyes wouldn't let him. Wolfram soon felt his entire body along the angle of the slope as they continued to slide toward the turbulent current of water.

Conditioning his mind, he prepared himself for what was to come, assuring himself that a soldier like him could survive such minor situation.

All of a sudden, Wolfram felt his ankles being tugged. He looked over his shoulder and saw a figure crouching at the top. It was Conrart hauling him up. Wolfram had never felt more relieved upon seeing Conrart, and ignored the sharp pain on his chest as he was dragged along the rocky hill.

As soon as his body was on flat ground once more, he heard Conrart say, "You can let go of him now; I've got him."

Wolfram turned his head to the side and squinted under the rain. He then understood whom Conrart had referred to and released his hold on the stout leg. The boar snorted several times in Wolfram's direction before scurrying off with a limp. One of its hind legs had a fresh gash and was bleeding profusely.

"You're welcome, heavy little thing," Wolfram muttered as he got to his feet.

Wolfram saw his brother return to the edge of the slope and stoop down. With a lopsided grin, Conrart raised the fishes in his hand, and then returned to Wolfram's side.

"Let's take shelter over there," Wolfram said, pointing in the direction of trees with thick, broad leaves.

Once they were out of the pouring rain, Wolfram slumped against the trunk and unbuttoned his torn, soiled top. He winced as he touched his welted skin. He placed his palm over the long cuts and summoned his healing magic.

"Are your wounds deep?" Conrart asked, removing the pale hand away from the chest to take a look.

Wolfram shook his head.

"It doesn't seem so bad," Conrart remarked as he sat beside his brother. He then added, "Since no fire will last on this wet ground, we might as well wait until the rain lets up before we attempt to cook our breakfast."

Wolfram didn't ask where his older brother had been; he had obviously gone fishing. "How come you ended up going to the sea? Didn't you find any bigger animal nearby?"

"No. I thought it was surprising as well. On the other hand, maybe they sensed the oncoming rain and didn't bother to go out of their dwellings."

"You may be right. For some reason, the animals here are quite strange, as if they think like people. The boar actually woke me up. I realize now that he may have been trying to warn me."

"I'm sorry."

Wolfram looked at his brother with questioning eyes, wondering what the apology was for.

"I should have known that the tunnel wasn't a safe place to leave you."

Wolfram snorted. "Humph! Even if I was washed away, I wouldn't have drowned. I probably would have just drifted off to sea."

"I'm most relieved that didn't happen," Conrart said quietly.

Wolfram blushed at the warm words and gentle tone. To conceal his flushed cheeks, he turned his head to the other side.

"Little brother, without you…" Conrart started, but didn't finish.

After seconds of dead silence, Wolfram turned to look at Conrart with a raised eyebrow.

Hazel eyes held the expectant gaze of the emerald ones as Conrart seriously said, "It'll be terribly tiresome to rub wood in order to create fire. It'll be extremely cold during the nights. I'll miss your healing powers on my weary feet. Oh, and I'll go insane with all the peace and quiet without your constant whining, insults, and demands."

The corners of Conrart's mouth twitched before opening into a wide grin. Wolfram curled his upper lip, disenchanted with his brother's wicked sarcasm. Then, Conrart began to laugh loudly. Wolfram briefly questioned the man's sanity and where the brother he once knew had gone.

"Lord Weller, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't complained, offended you, or required you to do anything for me during the last few days."

When Conrart's laughter subsided, another long dead silence followed, enhancing the sound of splattering rain on the leaves.

"You're right," Conrart agreed quietly. "Come to think of it, we haven't spoken more than a few words in years—or has it been decades?"

Wolfram chose not to reply or make further remarks. He buttoned his shirt as soon as his skin felt better and turned away from the cold stare.

They watched the downpour in complete silence.

OooooooooO

It was close to midday when they were able to feel the warmth of the sun again. After their meal, Conrart taught Wolfram how to build a simple raft. Together they cut several thin light green bamboo trees and thick long vines. When they had more than a few dozen pieces, they stored them in a cave nearby.

Inside the cave was a small, dark blue pool. Wolfram was about to take a handful of water to his mouth when Conrart grabbed his wrist, releasing the trapped water from his palms.

"That's stagnant water," Conrart explained.

"Ah, you're right. Thirst robbed me of good judgment, sorry," Wolfram said. "Shall we go look for another brook or maybe a river so we can take a dip as well?"

"All right," Conrart replied as he unsheathed his sword.

Wolfram watched his brother cut a portion from one of the bamboo trees they had stored. Conrart then cut the end of another tree.

"Here," Conrart said, handing one of the short pieces to Wolfram, "we can store water inside the hollow of this trunk."

"Thanks," Wolfram muttered, taking the improvised cup offered. He inwardly wished he had thought of the cup himself. So far, Conrart had been the one in command, had provided them with food, and constantly came up with ideas that made their life on the island not-so-unpleasant. He longed to prove that he was just as reliable and capable as his older brothers. He then made a resolution that, before they left the island, he had to have enough contributions to their survival, and that Conrart would be obliged to inform Gwendal a detailed account of each.

"While I was fishing, I noticed another island at a distance, though it was obscurely visible," Conrart said as they walked in search of freshwater. "I've also observed that from the shore, you're not able to see the end of the horizon clearly; it's as if this place is encompassed by a fog beyond that isle."

"Are you suggesting we head for that island first and continue our journey from there?" Wolfram asked.

"It would probably take half a day to reach it. Thus it's best to go in that direction in case we need to stop. I'm also hoping that from there, we could get a better vision of what's beyond."

"Hey," Wolfram said, stopping in his tracks all of a sudden, "why don't we confirm this with the old man? Though he's unfriendly, he might be able to provide us with information."

"You may be right," Conrart said. "We have a few hours before sundown; let's seek him out before then."

OooooooooO

After a short walk, Conrart and Wolfram stumbled upon a narrow, shallow river where they collected water and bathed. It was most fortunate that there were a few grazing animals nearby, among which, one unfortunate deer ended up as their second meal for the day. It wasn't easy to hunt though, as the animals scurried off the moment their presence was felt. Thus they decided to save what's left of the deer for the next day.

Just before twilight, Wolfram—who had quite a good memory—proudly guided his brother toward the foot of the hill where he remembered the old man's cave was located.

Long twigs tied together concealed the entrance, replacing the door Wolfram had burned the night before. After several knocks, the makeshift door swung open, revealing the sandy-haired bearded man. The old man immediately recognized them and was about to shut the door when Wolfram pushed his palms against it.

"We've come to apologize for last night," Wolfram said. "We even brought you dinner."

Conrart, suddenly realizing what his brother was referring to, held the upper half of the deer by its antlers and dangled it before the old hermit. Instead of gratitude, the old man gasped loudly and stared wide-eyed at the charred meat.

"Once again, an ill-fated soul suffered under your evil hands! How much more creatures will have to follow the same cruel path?" the shaky voice demanded.

"Dispel your fears, old man. We have no intention of sinking our teeth into an old, tough skinned boar," assured Wolfram. "Now, won't you invite us in since we've come with a peace offering?"

At the mention of a boar, a faint snorting was heard from inside the cave. Conrart, who was much taller than the old man, saw the brown round figure lying on the woven mat. A narrow piece of cloth was wrapped around one of its hind legs and beside it was a deformed tin basin with leaves immersed in liquid.

"I didn't realize that it was your boar that my brother risked his life for earlier," Conrart said in an attempt to appease the man's growing hostility toward Wolfram.

The gray eyes glowered at Conrart. "Your little sunshine here was the reason Ebbe got injured! Leave us alone!"

Using his crooked cane, the old hermit pushed at Wolfram's midsection, then at Conrart's, until they backed off from the entrance of his abode. He then shut the door.

"Darn that old man!" Wolfram said, rubbing his stomach. "We didn't even get to ask him anything."

Conrart rapped his knuckles on the door once more. When the old man refused to answer, he said in a loud voice, "If you want us out of your sight for good, please advise us how we can get out of this place."

"What a silly thing to ask; even I can answer that," Wolfram muttered. "First we build a raft, and then head out." Taking matters into his hands, he pounded on the tied twigs and shouted, "If you don't let us in, I'll burn this door as well!"

When the old man remained silent, Wolfram started to summon his fire Maryoku.

"No, Wolfram," Conrart objected. "If you do that, he'll never help us out."

Exhaling with exasperation, Wolfram then shouted, "Old man! We intend to traverse the island across. Do you have any words of wisdom before we depart? Is it safe there?"

Wolfram pressed an ear against the twigs. He frowned at what he heard. Then, he shrugged and started to walk away.

"What did he say?" Conrart asked, following his brother.

"The old man was laughing," Wolfram replied. "I somehow get the feeling that we shouldn't even consider stopping at that island. Let's just hoard meat and stay on our raft until we find ourselves in familiar territory."

"That's true… provided that our raft will hold that long," Conrart said as they headed for the cave where they left their materials.

OooooooooO

Upon reaching the cave, the siblings worked on their raft. They created a main frame and finished filling half the floor of the small raft before calling it a night. It was a starless, silent evening, and only the crackling of the fire between the brothers was heard. Though exhausted, Wolfram constantly shifted position on the coarse sand and stones underneath him, unable to sleep.

"If you're not that tired, you can always work on our raft," Conrart suggested. He watched his brother's form curl and uncurl from across the orange flames that barely kept them warm inside the cold stone walls.

"I'm amazed at how comfortable you are sleeping on the ground," Wolfram remarked, turning around to face Conrart.

"Ah, pardon me. I forgot that you haven't been exposed to the real world like other soldiers," Conrart remarked in a patronizing tone.

"Do you disapprove of my upbringing, Lord Weller?" Wolfram asked, eyebrows drawing together. "Even if you do, it's not fair to blame me for that."

"Oh? But you deem it fair to condemn me for the human blood in my veins?" Conrart retorted evenly before turning his back on his half brother.

Wolfram struggled for the right words. He had long accepted, though never expressed, that it wasn't Conrart's fault his father was from a race at odds with the Mazokus, who were predominantly full-blooded demons. He also realized that, after spending forty-eight hours alone with Conrart, not once had he felt antipathy toward him; if anything, he felt secure with Conrart despite the unfamiliar surroundings. He wanted to say something, anything, to let Conrart know, but the man gave out the impression that he couldn't care any less. He then regarded the rise and fall of his brother's back, and after a while, he found himself closing his heavy lids.

Wolfram woke up after what seemed like a short, light sleep. He shifted to his other side and saw the broad shoulders shaking, accompanied by several muffled gasps. He stood up and approached Conrart slowly. The sleeping man's lids remained shut as tears ran down from the corners of his eyes, dampening his cheeks and bridge of his nose. His face was contorted with what Wolfram presumed to be anguish. Softly spoken words escaped from the quivering lips.

Wolfram leaned closer until he felt the warm breath against his ear.

"Why, Julia?" he heard Conrart utter in between suppressed sobs.

Wolfram watched the man weep silently in his sleep. Slowly, hesitantly, he moved his hand closer to the cheek glistening with tears. Just when his palm was a mere inch from Conrart's face, he stopped in midair, unsure of how to deal with the situation should the man rouse from his touch.

He then withdrew his hand and sat still, eyes remained fixed on the troubled face.

Although he had never seen Conrart cry before, Wolfram wasn't surprised in any way; he had a good idea how much the loss of Julia lingered in the man's heart. Carefully positioning himself parallel to his brother's form, Wolfram continued to study the painful expressions marring the chiseled face.

For once, Wolfram felt sorry for Conrart.

OooooooooO

The next day, Wolfram and Conrart finished their raft and carried it to shore early in the afternoon. They were able to create four makeshift oars, which they secured to the sides of the small raft. It was a clear day, with hardly any cloud in sight, and both started their voyage with much optimism. However, as soon as they were a few meters away from the island, seasickness hit Wolfram. The lunch he had a few hours ago came gushing out of his mouth and into the water.

Sprawled on his stomach with his head over the edge of the raft, Wolfram continued to heave the contents of his stomach while Conrart rowed.

"I'm sorry I'm not much help," Wolfram apologized weakly, wiping the vomit from his mouth with saltwater.

"Did you honestly think that I wouldn't have expected this?" Conrart replied casually.

"That doesn't make me any less guilty for being useless," Wolfram muttered. "Fine, carry on with your smugness. Once we get back to Shin Makoku, I wouldn't give a damn about you and your opinion."

Conrart snorted. "What do you want me to do? Cradle you in my arms like a baby, stroke your back, and coo gentle words—while trying to steer from this place?"

Wolfram's answer came in the form of a long retching sound. He was growing weary by the minute and wondered how he could survive their long journey at this rate. He inwardly cursed Shinou for choosing to place his soul in a body that couldn't tolerate the sea.

All of a sudden he remembered his resolution of proving his capabilities to his elder brothers. Mustering whatever strength he had left, Wolfram stood with legs apart, and started paddling. His eyes constantly rolled to the back of his head whenever he suppressed the urge to throw up. There were no words of encouragement or commendation for his efforts; Conrart's concentration seemed fixed on what lay ahead of them.

They journeyed in silence, with Wolfram occasionally rushing to the side to heave the little that was left in his stomach.

When nightfall arrived, the once calm waters began to billow in waves, making them lose their footing from time to time. Weak and thirsty, Wolfram dropped to his knees near the edge of the raft, and summoned a faint ball of fire on his palm to light their way. Unfortunately, not long after, the chilly wind started to make its presence felt, carrying particles of seawater that snuffed every new flame on his palm.

Cold, tired, famished, and left with very little freshwater in their container, Wolfram was no longer able to tolerate the discomfort. "Lord Weller," he called out feebly to the man who had not once ceased steering, "I can see the small island. Let's stop there for a while. I can't continue like this."

Conrart turned around to look at his brother, who was sprawled on his back. Upon considering the increase in the swelling of water and the fatigue creeping up his limbs, Conrart nodded in agreement. "As soon as the waters are calm, we resume our journey," he said as he steered toward the island.

Wolfram scrambled to his feet once more and paddled with all his might, desiring nothing more than to rid of his seasickness.

Shortly, a heavy veil of mist enveloped them, rendering their visibility to almost nil. Adding to their difficulties, the wind whipped through the surface of the water, causing the waves to grow bigger, throwing them off balance several times. Even though Wolfram had already emptied the contents of his stomach, the pitching and rolling of the raft made him nauseous to no end. It took all of his willpower to keep steering with the long oars.

Before long, Wolfram noticed the thickening fog slowly swallowing Conrart's figure, which was just a few meters from him.

"Lord Weller," Wolfram said, "I can hardly see anything, and soon, not even you."

"Are you afraid?" Conrart teased lightheartedly, trying a reverse psychology on his companion.

"Definitely not!" Wolfram said defensively, though he felt the opposite.

"Good," Conrart said, chuckling. "Should the waves get any bigger, hang on to either of the oars to prevent you from going overboard."

"Mhm!" Wolfram agreed, smiling to himself. It seemed that Conrart's earlier edgy tone was now replaced with gentleness and reassurance.

After a couple of grueling hours of rowing against the rough waters, Conrart glanced over his shoulder and said, "I know you're running low of Maryoku, but please try to summon a fire dragon at a forty-five degree angle."

Wolfram, half asleep from exhaustion, snapped to his senses and obeyed his older brother. The thin fire dragon that came out of his palm lit up their path for a few seconds before it was engulfed by the mist. Though brief, the flare of the dragon confirmed that the island was indeed at a short distance to the right.

An hour later, when their oars hit solid surface, they got off the raft and tugged it ashore.

It was another starless night and the pale moonlight filtering through the clouds barely illuminated their way amidst the murkiness. The pieces of driftwood they were able to gather soon became a bonfire between them. Wolfram lay on the sand and fell asleep immediately, while Conrart scouted their surrounding with weary eyes.

Through the haze, Conrart was able to make out the outline of a boat, not far from where they were. A howling from a distance was heard. He briefly regarded the fire beside his brother and was convinced that the flames should ward off creatures that lurk in the night. He then headed toward the direction of the familiar shape.

Up close, he confirmed that it was indeed a moderately sized sailboat, without its sail sheet. He noted a shallow pool of water on the floor. From the bow, there was a rope that was stretched, as if attached to something.

Following the long line, Conrart bumped into a tree in the darkness. It was then that he realized the fog had worsened, allowing him to see a mere few feet away. Since the rope was secured around the trunk of a tree, he was almost certain that somebody in the island owned the boat.

The possibility that the place was inhabited renewed hope in him. He then turned around in the direction of the faint light created by the bonfire, eager to return and tell the news to Wolfram.

Conrart slowed down his pace and knitted his brows at the silhouette of five short figures surrounding the bonfire… and Wolfram. The low growling sounds emitted from deep within made his blood curl: they intended to feast on his defenseless brother. He drew his sword and silently approached the pack of wolves. The one closest to him sensed his presence and started to snarl, baring its teeth. Much to his surprise, one of the wolves started to ditch sand into the bonfire using its hind legs.

In a matter of seconds, it was pitch black and even the moon chose to conceal itself behind the clouds. Conrart sensed eyes glowering through the haze, glaring at him menacingly. He retreated steadily in an attempt to divert the pack's attention from Wolfram.

"Wolfram!" Conrart shouted in the dark. "Don't move until you've listened to everything I have to say." After a short pause, he continued, "There are five wolves surrounding you, prepare yourse—"

Conrart was cut off by a long growl.

When he sensed something leaping at him from behind, he thrust his blade in the direction of the attacker. A whimpering sound followed, accompanied by the howling of several other wolves. He heard the wolves snarling on either side, and he inwardly laughed, hoping to finish off at least two more. With his keen senses as guide, he swung his sword swiftly to the right and felt the blade cut through the enemy. Just as he finished off the one on his left, he heard a loud cry, similar to a caged beast, only he knew it was not one of the wolves; it was Wolfram.

The sound of struggle followed.

"Wolfram, are you all right?"

There was no response; only the vicious growling and continued struggling filled Conrart's ears. His heart pounded in his chest as he drew closer to the action. He heard one of the wolves whimpering.

"Answer me, Wolfram!"

There was a low guttural sound, and a vicious gnawing of teeth, as if tugging at something, as if tearing its prey apart.

A faint pain-filled groan was then heard, making every step Conrart took seem heavier. "Hang in there, Wolfram."

Conrart's knees buckled at the prolonged soft moan. "Wolfram, have you killed them both?" Fighting the dreadful image in his mind, he scrambled to get up.

Upon hearing the uneven gasps, he stumbled in haste to reach its source. He then bumped into something, and fumbled over the figure with his hands. He saw the slender wrist and clasped his brother's hand. When the thick smell of blood filled his senses, he lowered his gaze to examine Wolfram's thighs and legs. He found several lacerations on one of the thighs, though it was too dark to see the extent of injury.

Conrart moved to speak to Wolfram, and noticed the hand over his brother's throat, blood gushing from the spaces between fingers. Half-lidded emerald eyes stared back at him while the open mouth sought for air.

"Hey there," Conrart said gently, brushing aside the blond locks on the damp forehead. "Did he get your throat? Let me take a look."

There was still no answer, only the irregular, sharp intake of breath. Conrart then removed the bloody hand covering the throat.

"Oh, Shinou!" Conrart uttered, throwing his head back at the severely punctured throat and the nasty tear on the side of his brother's neck.

Fighting the painful surge of tears at the back of his eyes, Conrart hastily tore off both sleeves of his white shirt. He tightly wrapped one around the upper thigh of his brother to prevent further loss of blood.

"I know you're running low of healing magic, but please try to use it one last time," Conrart pleaded in a cracked voice. "You need to close your wound to stop the bleeding and for you to be able to breathe properly."

Wolfram blinked in response and placed a palm over his neck.

Once the faint glow had dissipated, Conrart said, "Here, press this over your wound."

Wolfram took the folded cloth over his throat. The white sheet was rapidly soaked in blood, prompting Conrart to his feet and scurrying in the direction of the boat. His brother's power wasn't able to stop the bleeding, he thought frantically. He cursed his absence of demon magic, wishing that even just once he had the ability to heal.

"Is anybody there?" Conrart shouted repeatedly in the dark. "We need help, please."

There was no answer. Only the howling of wolves from a distance was heard every now and then. Conrart hurried back to Wolfram's side, stumbling a few times along the way. It didn't seem that the fog would let up soon, and he had no intention of remaining in the wolf-infested island any longer.

He decided to depart immediately and groped blindly for the warmth from the bonfire that had been extinguished: he remembered counting twenty-three long paces between their raft and the fire. Afterward, he gently scooped Wolfram in his arms and headed for the raft.

With every step, the laborious breathing filled Conrart's heart with dread. His mother's words of wisdom resounded in his head:_ "He who hardens his heart to the one he resents yet love with every fiber of his being risks encountering the meaning of regret."_ Death had hit him in the face countless times that its impact had diminished. But death showed no reprieve to unspoken apologies and unrealized dreams. And that terrified him.

When he had finally placed his brother on the floor of the raft, he whispered, "This will be another tedious journey, but if you keep me company and stay with me, I shall be eternally grateful."

Wolfram blinked several times in response and the corners of his open mouth twitched before turning upward into a small smile.

After planting a long kiss on Wolfram's forehead, Conrart left his brother's side and began to push the raft toward the water.

OooooooooO

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**On the Sands of Oblivion**

(Chapter Three)

"_If society did not exist—no one to dictate our actions—how do you wish to express this love we share, Little Big Brother?"_

OooooooooO

After they fled from the wolf-infested island, the next several hours stretched in a daze. Wolfram was numb, hardly experienced any pain, and every ounce of strength left was devoted to breathing with a punctured throat. He thanked whatever luck decided to stay with him that seasickness did not claim him despite the rough waters. Occasionally, he choked on his blood; whenever that happened, an attentive Conrart would stop rowing to help him sit up until he could breathe again. Conrart informed him that beyond the island where they were attacked, lightning marked the skies and seemed treacherous to traverse. Hence they were to return to the island, with extremely odd but less savage animals, and seek the help of the old man.

When daybreak came, visibility gradually increased until they were under clear blue skies once again. Weak from loss of blood, Wolfram drowsed off every now and then. Conrart, however, always managed to rouse him before long.

"I can see the island. We should be there in a few more hours," Conrart said, glancing over his shoulders while rowing.

Wolfram wanted to remark that anything more than an hour was sheer torture, especially for someone unable to speak and sit for long. What he would give now to be able to utter his thoughts. Ever since Conrart informed him where they were headed, he never ceased to wonder why his brother was confident that the old hermit could restore him to health.

When blood pooled in his throat, Wolfram struggled to raise himself up. Conrart immediately rushed to his side. Wolfram closed his eyes and concentrated on clearing his airway. The soothing strokes on his back felt wonderful… and familiar. Despite the familiarity, however, he could no longer recall the when and why; it simply felt as such.

"I'm proud of you," Conrart said gently. "You've managed to stay with me this long."

Wolfram wanted to ask if that meant he could sleep longer than a nap, but the concern in the hazel eyes made him smile into them instead.

"Let me check your injuries," Conrart said, removing Wolfram's hand from his throat.

The torn skin on the side of the neck appeared to have patched up and was traced with dried blood; the punctures on the throat from the canine teeth were still open and deep though. He then checked the lacerations on the left thigh. The once jagged wounds appeared to have closed up.

Conrart released a faint sigh of relief. "Thanks to a full demon blood's natural healing abilities, the skin at the side of your neck and limb look better. Your throat, however, still needs much attention. Otherwise, you won't be able to eat, and without food, you won't be able to use healing magic on yourself."

The mere mention of food was enough to make Wolfram's stomach grumble; a reminder that was most unwelcome at the moment. Wolfram opened his mouth to speak but only a humorously strange gurgling sound escaped from his lips. He then waved a hand, gesturing his brother to leave his side. He could hardly wait to set foot on land, the foremost thing on their agenda.

Conrart nodded and went back to his position between long oars.

Shortly, long-winged birds hovered above them. One suddenly decided to alight on their raft. Dark, beady eyes stared at Wolfram, darting back and forth his punctured throat and limb. Wolfram then clenched his fist and, with the back of his hand, punched the curious creature on the chest, almost knocking it into the waters before it took flight with the rest of the flock.

Wolfram had nothing against the dumb-looking bird who probably thought—as much as hoped—he was dead; he simply wanted to prove that he was indeed alive, even if he appeared like a corpse baking under the scorching sun with dried blood.

A soft chuckle from the front put a smile to Wolfram's face. Even without backward glances, Conrart was certainly aware of every single move he made.

Except for the slosh of water being pushed back by the poles, a rather comfortable silence lingered in the salt-filled air. Despite their current situation, Wolfram could hardly remember the last time he and Conrart were more relaxed—comfortable—in each other's presence, the way brothers should be.

Yes, Wolfram thought, it was how it should be.

OooooooooO

"Well, well, what have we here? Someone's got a taste of his own cruelty, I see."

Lying—and feeling like a hammock with his backside sagging—in Conrart's arms, Wolfram regarded the owner of the gruff voice through half-lidded eyes. The old man stood under the doorway of his cave-turned-abode. Wolfram had no strength to sneer, more so to argue that killing a deer for a meal was by no means less cruel than frying a fish, which was what the old man had going at his stone fireplace.

"Kind man, nobody else seems wiser than you. Restore my brother to health and I shall willingly comply with anything you ask of me."

_Wiser? There wasn't even a single soul around to compare him with. Nobody but the old man lived in that island!_ A low, exasperated gurgle escaped Wolfram's throat. He most certainly did not desire to be indebted to the old man. However, Conrart did the talking for them both, as he literally had no say in that matter.

For a few good seconds, the gray eyes simply stared back at Conrart. The old man then asked, "How many accursed demons were you able to dispose?"

Because the old man most likely had not referred to the demons of the Mazoku race, Conrart assumed the only other option in mind: "There should be three to five black wolves lying scattered along the shores of the island across."

A bushy eyebrow shot up. "You sure?"

"Positive."

Silver specks flashed in the gray eyes. Then, the old man stepped aside and motioned to the woven mat on the ground. "Leave him there and obtain my payment while I work on his injuries."

While Conrart carried Wolfram inside the cave, the old man went on:

"In the valley at the west, where grasses contend on a daily basis for an ounce of light, there is a mud hole which the sun smiles unjustly upon. Treasures have been buried there for centuries. Five should be enough to ensure your brother's life. If you bring me one particular silver oval pendant, I would be generous enough to share a secret."

"What use will this secret be to us?"

"It would convey you beyond the windy horizon, back where you came from. Now enough queries. Earn the answers you seek."

Wolfram blinked his weary eyes as soon as his back touched the woven mat. Compared to the flooring of the raft and caves they had slept on, the warm, rough material felt almost luxurious. Slumber began to claim him.

Despite what the old man said, Wolfram heard Conrart ask numerous questions. Just before his heavy lids shut, the angry tone of the old man pierced his ears:

"Don't try my patience with your lack of imagination! No simpleton will be able to outwit the mud hole. Ignorance will be the death of you. Now, get out of my sight and let me attend to the rascal."

OooooooooO

"What? That's absurd!" a familiar voice shouted.

Wolfram moved his eyes but couldn't see anything.

"Must you speak so loud?" a voice, different from the first, asked flatly. "Your failure proves there's nothing worthwhile in your heart. Why not fill it as I've suggested?"

_Who's there?_ asked Wolfram, but didn't hear his words. He then remembered he wasn't able to speak.

"There must be another option."

_Lord Weller, is that you? Why are you shouting? It's not like you._

"Let him try it then. See if he'll succeed…"

_Old man, is that you? What have you done to me? I can't move a muscle! _

"…but if your inquisitive sibling fails, he will press for explanations. You'll be forced to divulge what I've said and that would be the end of the only option I can think of. You'll be doomed here until your last breath. Take my advice, it is less detrimental."

"Less detrimental? Why, it's insanity! Unlike you, we're not withdrawn from people. When we return to our nation, I won't be able to look my mother—or anybody for that matter—in the eye if we…if I… Disgust would not be able to describe my feelings should I sink that low."

_Whatever he's asking you to do, don't do it! Never trust this old man!_ Wolfram was almost certain his lids were filled with lead, unable to move them despite his efforts. _I think he had just paralyzed me!_

"Silence! Your voice has roused him. If he awakes this early, the medication won't work. I have to sedate him"

Something light touched Wolfram's lips, so light it somewhat tickled. Was it a leaf? It certainly had a faint smell of one. _Hey, old man, don't make me eat leaves!_ A sour liquid touched his tongue, while something trickled down the sides of his mouth. Then, he felt something rough pushing his cheeks.

"Seek whomever it is you pray to that he dreams of pleasant things which still exist, and maybe, just maybe, it could be your payment out of here."

Wolfram began to choke on whatever it was that was forced into his throat.

"There's something I haven't told you. If it would help change your mind…."

The old man's voice sounded so soft it could pass for a whisper. _Old man, are you talking to me?_ Wolfram was no longer sure of anything. Then, there was a whirling sensation from his head to toes. His last thought was that the old man had given him tranquilizer.

OooooooooO

The moment vivacious and clingy Elizabeth disappeared into the ornate carriage, he hunched his shoulders. Once again, boredom hit him in the face. He decided to go to the courtyard where he was sure to find at least one of his brothers, and most likely sparring with Dan Hiri Weller, his mother's second husband and father of his Little Big Brother, Conrart.

As the image of the tall, brown-haired man flashed in his mind, he kicked loose pebbles high in the air. Although he esteemed notable warriors—and Dan Hiri happened to be the most remarkable swordsman in the nation—he somewhat harbored a grudge against him. Whenever around, Dan Hiri grabbed his mother's affection and took his brothers' time; and with every departure, made his mother weep silently for several nights. His father, the late Commander von Bielefeld, died shortly after his birth and did not bring as much grief. Then again, the pain the dead brought could be—should be—temporary. Dan Hiri, unfortunately for him, was alive and capable of doing damage. He also resented the fact that he hardly received any attention from the _supposedly _affable man. He was fifteen years of age. Fifteen! Well, all right, he could forgive Dan Hiri for not knowing this; after all, he was a head or two below the man's waist. However, that should not make Dan Hiri less confident of his intelligence. He could carry a conversation with almost any adult, preferably male because the women's tales and constant giggling in the kitchen were unbearable and made him fidget unfailingly in his high stool.

"Eh?"

He looked around disappointedly. There was no one in the courtyard; only scattered leaves greeted him, kissing his stockings and shoes as a gentle summer breeze swept past. Cups with leftover tea and plates with half-eaten pastries on the white-painted wrought iron table confirmed that at least two people were there recently, certainly not long ago, for servants were trained to carry their duties without delay, which included clearing tables.

With hands behind his head, he sauntered along the cobblestone path, wondering where to go next before reporting to his governess. The middle-aged woman, who was his governess, could neither stand nor sit still for long and would cut their lessons short. She gave him ample freedom to loiter about, on the condition that he returned to the study before his Conrart fetched him. It was an agreement that no one except his Conrart was privy to. That morning, he was excused from any lessons because his friend, assertive Elizabeth, decided to show up, saying she was unwell and needed to see him. Even though the governess was supposed to keep an eye on them both, she disappeared as soon as his mother was out of sight—but not before instructing him to return to the study by noon.

He glanced up at the loggia above the arcaded walkways. Three maids were loitering about in the second floor. He sneered at the laundry baskets in their hands, dismissing them as mere accessories to cover up the maids' idle walks during the day. One of the servants threw a glance toward the gardens, and then abruptly leaned her waist against the stone railing. The two followed her. In no time they were whispering, as if exchanging views on something intriguing. Their shaking shoulders and crimson puffed cheeks revealed they were giggling over whatever they were viewing from the upper floor.

Women! So easy to please. How he wished he shared their trifle pleasures instead of enduring the monotony of a daily mundane routine. Oh, there truly was a price for being a prince, especially one with discriminating eyes reserved solely for the worthy. Whatever caught the maids' fancy was often, if not always, a waste of his time. Then again, it was time he had plenty of and the frivolous women had just given him an idea where to spend it. With a sigh, he turned on his heel and headed for the garden beyond the courtyard wall.

A few minutes into a peaceful stroll—with occasional stops to smell the flowers—he heard strange sounds. He stood up from a squatting position, turned his back on the roses, and tiptoed to see behind the squared hedge—which wasn't easy for someone with his height.

A wide grin stretched across his face.

Prolonged "Nnnf!" and "Ahh!" filled his ears as he discovered and watched what presumably the maids at the loggia were engrossed with: his mother, the twenty-sixth Maoh of Shin Makoku, Cecilie von Spitzweg, and Lord Dan Hiri Weller were making out under broad daylight.

Dan Hiri's pale backside—an unsightly contrast to his tanned lower limbs—was exposed. Neither of them had disposed of any article of clothing. Then again, his mother always wore garments with high slits and low cuts that he often wondered why she even bothered when she obviously disliked the feel of even the finest fabric on her skin. Dan Hiri, on the other hand, had trousers pressed together in wrinkles at his ankles. The man was on top of his mother, and in a position which reminded him of a frog with splayed knees and feet bound together.

It was hilarious; they appeared and sounded hilarious. If not for the fast growing strain on his neck and stretched calves, he would have snickered. Of course he would not admit to anybody he was amused by such vulgar display. After all, he was a prince. Oh, but he silently thanked the impertinent spectators they had for maids for leading him there!

His mother and Dan Hiri's mouths remained lock, long after both shapely legs wound around the pale backside, heels digging into the flesh as if they were not close enough. He clutched a handful of leaves as he grew unsteady from standing on his toes for long.

_Would they finish soon?_ he wondered. In his fifteen years, he had only witnessed animals mating. They always ended abruptly and didn't have a variety of movement and sounds like the two before him now. How he wished his Little Big—

A hand landed on his waist, and shortly, he was being carried away by his Little Big Brother. He didn't bother to break free; his Conrart would tire soon. True enough, he was on his feet again by the time they reached the courtyard.

His Conrart took out a handkerchief and patted his damp forehead. His Conrart always made sure he looked presentable and looked after him attentively whenever possible. Often, he sullied his clothes on purpose and appeared in front of his Little Big Brother before anyone else so that he—and not any of the callous-handed servants—would be the one to give him a bath.

"Did you see that?"

"You know better than to watch people making love," his Little Big Brother chided, though amusement was evident in the hazel eyes.

"I thought they were just copulating," he remarked, blinking as his Conrart wiped the corners of his eyes with the white cloth.

His Conrart chuckled. "Sometimes, it's the same thing. Now give me your hands."

He pursed his lips and watched his Little Big Brother brush the dirt and tiny crushed leaves stuck within the lines of his palms. "Do you mean the horses we saw mating by the pastures are in love?"

"Perhaps." His Little Big Brother straightened up. "Come. They're waiting for us at the dining hall."

He took the hand offered and walked alongside his Conrart. "Can we make love after lunch—in a bed preferably?"

His Conrart stopped in his tracks.

"Or should we wait until I'm taller?"

With what seemed like an apologetic smile, his Conrart shook his head. "Siblings are forbidden to love that way."

A prolonged gasp escaped him. "How do they express love then?" he asked as they resumed their walk.

"The way we do now."

"That's all?" He was gravely disappointed. From the occasional chatters of the maids, he learned that most adults immensely enjoyed copulation. "Who do you intend to do it with someday?" he asked in a bitter undertone.

"No matter whom I marry, it will never change the fact that you're the first love of my life," his Conrart said to him—his 'excessively possessive baby brother' according to his useless governess.

"Something tells me you're just saying that."

"I could, but I'm not. I mean it," his Conrart said, smiling down at him.

His Conrart was looking him in the eye; therefore, it had to be sincere. "Don't you want to do it with me before someone snatches you away permanently? Why is it forbidden for brothers who _love_ each other to _make love_? It doesn't make sense."

"Because society tells us so."

"What if there was no society? What if Soushu leaked out of the boxes," he said, excitement building up in his voice, "and wiped every creature except you and me?"

"Don't speak of such catastrophe."

"Just answer my question, will you? If society did not exist—no one to dictate our actions—how do you wish to express this love we share, Little Big Brother?"

His Conrart refused to reply.

They reached the dining hall where the others were waiting: stern Big Brother, Gwendal; Big Brother's inventor friend, Anissina; his brothers' hyperactive adviser, Gunter; and the drab-looking woman who was his governess.

His Conrart then announced, "Her Majesty and Lord Weller will be delayed."

"As expected," Big Brother said in a low voice. "I'm certain they wouldn't mind if we go ahead."

He dared not pursue the topic in front of Gwendal. Although he often feigned innocence, he was fully aware of those forbidden and not. However, that did not stop him from testing his Conrart's love for him, and if it was enough to defy that particular rule which hardly made sense.

Sulking, he sat on three pillows stacked on top of his chair. With a heavy sigh—something 'not often heard from other Mazokus his age,' as per his unreliable governess—he stared at the wide-eyed, open-mouthed broiled fish on his plate.

OooooooooO

Wolfram awoke to the crackling of fire and warmth near his left cheek and ear. Then, a faint rumbling was heard. The first thing he saw across his feet was a thin trunk of a headless tree, leaning against the stone wall; dangling from its leafless branches were the familiar brown trousers, blue trousers, a couple of black tiny undergarments, and white inner shirts devoid of sleeves.

He lowered his gaze, slid a hand over his chest, and pinched the coarse material. He was wearing burlap, an old, tattered sack. When his hand moved further south, his fingers got caught in a woven rope—made from vine—that was now his belt. He then felt his sides. Whoever donned him in the pauper garment had a good reason for adding a belt: apparently, he had no underwear, and the material was not stitched together at the sides. At least it reached his mid thigh, he consoled himself.

He was starving. He sniffed for food but only wet soil and burning wood was detected. At his right—near the wall and within reach—was his sword, several coconuts, a couple of squashes, and their bamboo water containers. While rubbing his complaining stomach, he sat up and glanced at the opposite direction. Beyond the fire, he made out a figure, sitting with a shoulder leaning against the entrance of the cave. _Conrart._

"Little Bi—Lord Weller?" Wolfram didn't like the hoarse tone that reached his ears. His hand went to his throat, his fingers coming into contact with a greasy substance and clumps of what he could only imagine to be clots of blood. "Lord Weller?" he repeated, grimacing at the raspy tone once more. The weak voice was clearly ineffective, drowned by the croaking of frogs, high-pitched droning of cicadas, and other various sounds from nocturnal creatures outside. At least he was able to speak again, he reminded himself.

He grabbed a coconut and his sword, and then got to his feet. He walked around the fire and approached the motionless form. Conrart had his back toward him. Like him, he wore a rectangular material riddled with holes, the biggest fit over the head, its front and back were held together by a mere rope—otherwise, more than the flesh at the sides would be exposed. Judging from the angle of the head, Wolfram presumed the man had fallen asleep while on a lookout. Yes, he was certain Conrart was guarding over their new abode; his brother's hand, resting over the hilt of the sword, proved this.

As he drew closer, he couldn't help but smirk. Despite the Lion of Lutenberg's infallible reputation, sneaking behind him was so effortless, so easy that if he was an enemy, he could bring down either his blade or the hard-shelled fruit over the dark hair to ensure an endless slumber.

Wolfram crouched beside Conrart. "Hmph! The hero isn't perfect after all."

The cool air, which carried a whiff of wet soil, told him it had rained. For no more than a breath, he regarded the pitch black surrounding. The curved line that was the moon was so thin anyone could miss it, especially when there were no stars around it.

He then glanced at Conrart's profile. There was no movement behind the closed lids. The man was dead asleep. On the other hand, hardly anything could be seen except the dance of shadows and light along the chiseled jaw and high cheekbones, areas which the firelight reached over their shoulders.

At that moment, Conrart barely looked anything like the little young man in his dream earlier. It was also then that he realized he hardly noticed when his Little Big Brother physically transformed into the adult he stiffly referred to as Lord Weller. It was as if there was a huge gap in his memory, as if he completely missed out the metamorphosis of the person he once lov—

Wolfram shook his head and snapped out of the foolish sentiments. He immediately focused on the green shell. With the edge of his blade, he stabbed the center and carved out an opening. He gulped down the sweet juice. It hardly quenched the thirst he suddenly became aware of. He broke the shell in half and scooped out the white flesh against the fibrous husk. He barely chewed before swallowing.

Once all that was edible within the shell was gone, he stood up and was about to fetch another coconut when a full bladder called his attention. The cave was like the ones they had previously inhabited: by a narrow and steep trail. Advancing more than a few feet was suicide, similar to jumping off a cliff. The only direction to walk was either up or down. But it was too dark to travel, and summoning whatever fire Maryoku was resuscitated after a meager meal wouldn't be wise. And he was barefoot; muddying his dry soles would be very unpleasant. The only option left was to stand by the edge and do it.

When his eyes fell to the empty shell, a sillier idea presented itself. Standing upright, he quickly relieved himself. He then picked up the husk, careful not to tip it over. As he moved away from the entrance, the flickering firelight revealed the edge of the trail. No more than five paces later, he stooped close to the ground and dropped the shell over the brink. It made a tumbling sound, as it presumably hit rocks, followed by a soft slap, as it imaginably hit some broad leaf.

Grinning mischievously, he wondered if the liquid had spattered on any unfortunate creature on its way down. Living in the wilderness had primitive benefits, he thought. No society to look down upon your actions, no rules, no inhibitions. Sheer freedom. He laughed out loud and didn't care that the sound was so rough it was scary. Nobody was around to criticize it anyway.

"Feeling better?"

Conrart was finally awake, or perhaps had been for a while but chose to ignore him. It was hard to tell. His older brother could be sly when he wanted to.

Wolfram stretched his arms over his head, took a deep breath, and then turned around as he exhaled loudly. "Yes. I'm still famished though. I'm thinking of eating your share of fruits."

"I have something better in mind." Conrart stood up and went inside the cave. "Oh, and your voice is nasty."

What was supposed to be a "Hmph!" sounded like a low growl. Shaking his head, Wolfram silently followed Conrart. The former watched his brother bend over a squash—and made mental note that doing so would raise the uneven hemline to indecent height—and removed its upper half like a lid. Now why didn't he notice that the squash had been sliced? Wolfram's trivial question was soon abandoned when Conrart pulled out two fishes from the hallowed-out shell. Hunger settled in once again.

"Where did you get those squashes?"

"The old man. He has a private place where he grows vegetables," Conrart explained as he skewered the fishes with a thin wood. "I didn't cook these beforehand because I wasn't expecting you to come around so soon. The old man said it would take at least three full nights for you to recover."

"Oh? And how long has it been?" Wolfram sat by the fire while his brother put the fishes over it.

"Three nights. But the third isn't quite over yet."

"So the old man couldn't accommodate us for more than a couple of nights, huh?"

"He was generous enough to look after you until I was able to gather food and find us an ideal shelter."

Wolfram understood why Conrart's ideal place was by the edge of a mountain: in case of an attack, it would be easy to dispose of enemies one at a time, as it was the only number the narrow trail would allow. When outnumbered, deal with the opponent in narrow passageways. It was a military strategy he had learned years ago but hadn't utilized.

"Speaking of the old man, were you able to locate the mud hole he'd spoken of?"

Conrart handed Wolfram one of the bamboo drinking containers. "Try this. It's something he made for your throat." Wolfram briefly eyed the yellow liquid before taking a sip, while Conrart replied, "Yes, I found it and was able to gather a few things."

"Were there any real treasures like he said?"

"Depends on what your definition of precious is. Anyway, the mud hole is actually a quicksand. I had anticipated the danger and tied vine ropes to my waist before plunging in. Looking back now, something tells me that even if I didn't take precautionary measures, I would have survived all the same." Conrart paused to sigh. "You see these past few days seem to prove my time hasn't arrived. Perhaps if I jump off this mountain—head first—it's expected that thick leaves would break my fall before I hit some rock. Life loves me so much it cannot be parted from me." He heaved another sigh. "Enviable, isn't it?"

From the rim of the liquid container, Wolfram studied the sarcastic man. Did his brother seriously not mind death? Perhaps he had been correct all along in speculating Conrart had deliberately sailed into the eye of a storm. From where he sat across the fire, he noticed the shadows under the swollen eyes. Had Conrart been crying or was it merely lack of sleep?

"Then again, this invincibility has advantages. As long as you stay close by my side, you'd surely live long," Conrart went on, poking the underside of the fishes to check their color.

Wolfram had also observed that Conrart was unusually talkative.

"Unless you have a seizure or heart attack… those internal problems, I can't do anything about."

Now Conrart was being strange. The person who kept on blathering wasn't the brother Wolfram knew at all.

"Perhaps if I was the one sleeping along the shore that night, the wolves wouldn't have bothered to even lick me. Next time, no matter how exhausted, don't close your eyes when I'm not looking. I don't know how long before we're able to return home, but there'll be days when I've had enough of your whining and insults and will curse until you leave. Whenever that happens, never _ever _stray from my sight even after I said so."

Was this the reason for the haggard appearance and nonsensical talk? Was it possible that Conrart was traumatized by the incident at the island across? Wolfram's cheeks suddenly felt warm and was fully aware it was not the flames' doing.

"You are not permitted to wander alone. Today onward, we'll hunt for food together, we'll dine across each other, we'll sleep at the same time with me facing the entrance, and…and…." The stern voice faltered.

Conrart looked everywhere but at Wolfram. The former's slender fingers combed through dark hair, pausing every now and then as they got caught in the tangled locks.

"You cannot depart this world before me or else I'll torment your reincarnated being," Conrart said firmly, finally looking Wolfram in the eye. "Understood?"

Wolfram bit his lower lip to suppress a smile. The satisfaction that continued to warm him seemed so… familiar. Then again, he could barely recall the last time Conrart was as concerned. The tightly pressed lips quivered and eyes glistened below the brows drawn together. Could the man be agitated because of what happened to him? This made his heart leap unexpectedly. After all these years of silent war, did his Little Big Brother still exist within Conrart Weller?

"Rest your fears. Why should I stray from you?" Wolfram offered a warm smile.

For a moment, Conrart simply stared at him, as if searching for something… the right words perhaps?

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but even if you end up hating me more than ever, I have to get us out of here safely next time," Conrart said in a cracked voice. "I'm sor—"

"Why would I hate you for creating rules while we're stuck here? You're an excellent companion—provider. Look at this cave. In such short time, you were able to make it livable. We have enough food, a tree that's now a clothes hanger, a squash for food container, and even provided a change of clothing. In my opinion…" Wolfram hesitated and shifted his gaze back to the fire. Would it be extreme to admit that Conrart would make an ideal _spouse _someday? It could come across as suggestive. He then decided it was quite premature to reconcile with Conrart all the way. After decades of apathy, it would be unnatural to reestablish their relationship so suddenly.

An awkward silence followed. Conrart remained motionless and appeared fixated on the fishes all of a sudden.

_What is troubling you still?_ Wolfram decided it was time to lighten the atmosphere. "Where did you find these sacks?"

Conrart turned the fishes over. He then stood up with arms at the sides, and then swayed from left to right. "Now this is the latest fashion courtesy of the old man's shipwreck-scavenged-surplus. Is it to your liking?"

"I can't say I like the texture, but I suppose it would do as a blanket."

The corners of Conrart's mouth turned upward. With hands on his hips, he spun around slowly, showing off the exposed flesh on either side of the primitive garment. "This, my child, gives one unparalleled freedom! Climb and chop trees without worrying about ripping a seam! Lift from either the front or sides whenever you need to do your daily private business!"

Wolfram knew he had turned red with embarrassment. Conrart was grinning, raising limbs every now and then. He was deliberately ridiculous, which was rare, if not unheard-of. Had he gone mad? One minute he was somber, while the next he was somebody he wasn't.

"It's disposable and maintenance free. The best part is that it's reversible!"

_Oh, Shinou, don't take away Lord Weller's better judgment; without it, he is nothing but another foolish being._ If Wolfram wasn't starving, he would have pretended to be fast asleep.

"Hey," Conrart said, suddenly bringing an end to the supposedly comical twirl. He sat across from Wolfram again. "Don't strain your vocal chords by laughing too hard."

"I now understand why you've always been reserved. You must have known all along that being a jester doesn't suit you."

Conrart protruded his lower lip.

"Pouting—being cute—doesn't suit you either."

"Ah, well, I'm relieved to know such enthusiasm doesn't move you. It's too… strenuous," Conrart muttered, his false frown deepening. He then separated the fishes by breaking the stick in two, and gave Wolfram his share. "Ha! At least I'm a great cook, am I not?"

"Why are you interested in what moves me? You're acting very strange—never mind, don't bother to answer." Wolfram blew on the freshly cooked fish. "Instead of worrying me with your… this… drastic change in personality, I'd rather hear more about the mud hole."

"Let me see. Where do I begin? Ah, yes, I remember now." Conrart blinked too many times for Wolfram's liking. "After I left you in the care of the old man, I headed west and looked for a valley, just as he instructed. There were a few, but one had countless of trees, and because he said 'where grasses contend on a daily basis for an ounce of light,' I had a feeling it was _the _one. Thus I searched where the sun was visible, believe me it wasn't easy amidst the dense growth. Finally…"

While Conrart went on, Wolfram made much effort to listen attentively, but found it difficult. He was distracted. Even the Little Big Brother he once had hardly talked this much and barely used animated gestures and humor to accompany his tales; the smile he had known for sixty-five years never lasted more than a few seconds, and definitely not longer than half an hour; and the hazel eyes—which were either warm with affection or cold with indifference—had never been as vibrant with life and hadn't left him once.

The man before him was neither Lord Weller nor his Little Big Brother. This man was a stranger.

OooooooooO

After their meal, Conrart insisted that Wolfram rested further. Out of gratitude for everything Conrart had done while he was unconscious, Wolfram felt obliged to do so, but was unable to find sleep. They ended up talking as they lay alongside each other.

"Look," Conrart said, glancing toward the opening of the cave. "The sky has turned purple."

"Should we try to head out?"

"I forgot to tell you," Conrart grinned sheepishly, "it had been raining incessantly before you woke up and our raft was washed away."

"Should we start building a new one today?"

"I was actually thinking of taking a break from work. You've lost a lot of weight. If we get stuck at sea for days, you'll lose more."

"I'm sorry I have such a weak stomach."

For a fleeting moment, it seemed as if they ran out of words. Conrart turned to the side, with elbows on the ground and head propped in hand. He regarded Wolfram with a pensive face.

"Yes?" Wolfram asked with arms folded at his chest. When Conrart merely shrugged, he grew uneasy under the hazel eyes. However, since turning his back was admitting defeat, he said as nonchalantly as possible, "Weren't you the one who taught me that staring is rude?"

The brown eyebrows raised as Conrart snapped out of a brief fixation. "I've been thinking… If you were given a chance to live an _ideal_ temporal life, one you'd have to abandon eventually, would you grab the opportunity?"

Wolfram frowned in thought. "Hmm…You mean like mother, who someday has to give up the title of the Maoh, along with all its privileges?"

Conrart nodded, though his eyes seemed to say, 'Not quite.'

Avoiding the intense gaze, Wolfram pretended to be preoccupied with his chipped nails. "Let's put it this way, if I died the night we were attacked by wolves, I'd be a miserable soul by now. I haven't explored the world beyond Shin Makoku; I haven't understood—experienced—the one thing mother is obsessed with; and I haven't proven my worth as a soldier. In short, I haven't _lived_ at all. Therefore, the answer to your question is: yes, in a heartbeat, I'd grab the opportunity to feel _alive _despite the fact that it won't last."

The answer seemed to please Conrart, who then nodded in approval.

"At least," Wolfram added as an afterthought, throwing a grin at his brother, "I'll be left with memories."

The smile that had recently appeared in Conrart's face quickly disappeared, replaced by a strange expression that could pass for fear.

Wolfram opened his mouth to speak, but Conrart clasped his hand.

"Let's do anything and everything you want. Shall be begin by going on a hike? We can climb mountain after mountain. Let's explore as much as you want. We can stop wherever nightfall finds us and not think of wild animals or anything." Conrart said in a rush, words almost running together. "I shall protect you, I swear."

At that moment, Conrart appeared and sounded no less than _desperate_.

"What's gotten into you?" Wolfram asked suspiciously. He tried to free his hand, but to no avail. He struggled to sit up only to be pushed back down.

"When you first learned how to walk, you asked for your birthday a trip to the mountains. Mother said no, and you cried and kicked me until you fell asleep in my arms. The next day, I sneaked us out of the castle, but we got caught and…."

_You took responsibility and was forbidden to ride your horse for months as punishment,_ Wolfram finished privately. He was dumbfounded. _You still remember this?_

"Or we could also go fishing or swimming or both—that's what you requested a year later, but I had to refuse again. You were so young then, it was too risky."

There was a sudden ache in Wolfram's heart. What was Conrart trying to achieve by bringing up the past?

"If it rains, let's not take shelter." Conrart grinned. "That was your plea when we got caught in the rain at the gardens, but I—"

"You dragged me to the gazebo and, as always, endured my violence until it stopped raining. I didn't talk to you for weeks. You were so upset you threw me into the fountain and said, 'This is the same as standing under the rain. Happy now?' I was eight then."

"So you do remember after all."

"Of course I do!" Wolfram snapped, scowling. "What are—"

"Ah!" Conrart struck his palms together in a single clap, releasing Wolfram's hand in the process. "I know what you've always wanted, but I had no idea how to make it happen then. You wanted to fly, correct? Well, if we find a large piece of cloth or something similar, let's see if we can create a parachute—that's the name of an apparatus they use on Earth to retard free fa—"

"What are you doing, Lord Weller?" demanded Wolfram. _Are you trying to make me feel guilty by rubbing in how much you used to care?_

Conrart studied the emerald green eyes which glowered dangerously. Slowly, clearly, as if not wanting such simple words to be misunderstood, he said, "I want to start anew."

Wolfram blinked back the tears. He inwardly reprimanded himself for getting emotional.

"During the war, I encountered the presence of death too many times it had lost its impact. However, there were two things I hadn't accomplished in this lifetime: I returned too late for the first mission…"

_Julia von Wincott_, Wolfram presumed, and a new ache found its ways inside him.

"After Julia's death I was distraught with grief, and because of that my second mission was held in abeyance. That is why I have yet to rectify the relationship I have with my baby brother, who is old enough now to do everything he wanted to do with me in the past. Should he refuse—he's a stubborn, proud man, you see—I originally intended to drag him away and knock sense into his thick skull. I'm positive he'll come around. After all, I was his first love and he was mine."

Wolfram clutched his chest. Guilt burst the walls of the dam he had created in his heart. His Little Big Brother loved him more than anyone. And how did he repay him? The wide rift between them had always been his fault; his, not Conrart's. He blinked to alleviate the pain behind his eyes.

"You never really disgusted me for having human blood. It was your lack of confidence in me that I resented," Wolfram confessed between clenched teeth, afraid that if he so much as opened his mouth he'd break down. "I've hurled spiteful words, while you just kept silent until I've said too much I could no longer take them back."

Only silence followed. Conrart got to his feet and left Wolfram's side. The former stood by the opening of the cave with his back toward his baffled companion.

"The sun is almost up," Conrart said quietly.

"Tell me, what kind of a person ignores his baby brother's heartfelt apology?" Wolfram asked monotonously.

A soft laughter came from Conrart.

Wolfram got up. "Were you even listening?"

Conrart turned around. "Every breath and every word."

"So why are you ignoring what I said?"

"Should I be in tears? If it will please you, I would," Conrart said teasingly, holding out a hand to Wolfram.

Wolfram sneered in response.

"Let's not think of anything today. Let's do everything you desire instead."

Wolfram nodded. As he drew closer to the person waiting for him, he bit his lip, lowered his gaze, and then, carefully, gently intertwined fingers with his first love.

OooooooooO

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: **I do not own _Kyou Kara Maoh!_ or any of its characters. I do not make money from these writings.

**Warnings**: yaoi (malexmale), incest in later chapters.

**Beta-reader**: None.

**Author's Note:** For those who've been patiently waiting and for those who've just stumbled upon this writing, I wish you all a pleasant reading.

**On the Sands of Oblivion**

**Chapter Four**

"_This haven is for the discarded and the cursed; everything born in this forsaken place is to be left behind, forgotten like the sands of oblivion."_

OooooooooO

Instead of exploring the lush mountains, Conrart and Wolfram strolled along the coast and checked for neighboring islands. At midday, after a meal of broiled fish, their next stop was at the mouth of a cove where they had a good view of their starting point. The horizon, where the wolf-infested isle could be seen, remained the same. They then realized that the land they were stranded in was much larger than it seemed; that the area they had covered was merely a diminutive percentage of its circumference.

Conrart sat on the wet, gray, stony sand, and settled beside him the belts with their swords, bamboo water containers, and a tattered sack containing their uniforms. With a gourd—holding what's left of their big catch that morning—tucked beneath an arm, Wolfram's gaze swept the curved land that was the small bay bordered by a rugged natural wall of rocks. The aforementioned wall was at least ten persons tall, with more than half its height covered with thick moss. He glanced up and found palm trees with long leaves that protruded beyond the edge of the steep cliff. And at the center of the cove were large rocks where he could almost imagine Conrart perched with a sword poised like a spear—wearing the sack he had on now—waiting for fishes under the clear water.

"Have you gone fishing here before?" Wolfram asked, turning around.

Wolfram found his handsome brother smiling at him. He was unable to conceal the blush that crept up his face for the nth time that morning. It had been a good six hours since they left their cave; it had been that long since Conrart remained attentive and pleasant. There was hardly any discord while they exchanged views on anything under the scorching sun; and, instead, there was the noticeable absence of Wolfram's habitual sardonic remarks and Conrart's prompt defense in form of sarcasm. And while they sauntered along the shore holding hands, tender glances were exchanged whenever they ran out of words to say, which was quite often and expected considering the years they had been indifferent and removed from each other's lives.

"I've never been to this side while you were unconscious," Conrart answered as Wolfram squatted beside him. Then, Conrart cupped the proud chin to raise Wolfram's head. Aside from thick chunks of dried blood on the throat, the swelling and redness around the once punctured area were gone.

Wolfram feigned annoyance to conceal the growing embarrassment he felt under the concerned hazel eyes. He removed the fingers from his face. "Stop examining every minute," he said gruffly. "Nothing could have possibly changed since the last time you checked."

"Your voice is still raspy," Conrart remarked, handing Wolfram a bamboo container.

Wolfram rolled his eyes before taking the medicine proffered. "For how long will you force me to drink this bitter stuff?" After gulping down the last drop with pinched nostrils, he tipped over the empty container and added, "Thank goodness that's the last!"

Conrart chuckled. "The old man is willing to concoct more medicine," he said, brushing away the blond locks obscuring the large, innocent eyes.

"So…" Wolfram started, his mouth twisting on either side, "are you that old man's comrade now? What's with the generosity all of a sudden?"

With a shrug, Conrart answered, "I suppose it has to do with the fact that we killed a few wolves across."

"Hmm... You may be right. Even in a half-conscious state, I did notice how his dull eyes lit up when you mentioned you've disposed a few," Wolfram said. "On the other hand, didn't you tell me earlier that the reason we can only eat sea creatures is because he forbade you to slaughter four-legged animals? Did he explain why he wants to preserve the creatures here when the deaths of those wolves obviously delighted him?"

"Shall we go ask?" Conrart suggested. "Ah, and we should let him know you're conscious and feeling better of late."

"No, Lord Well—Brother," Wolfram objected vehemently, shaking his head. "Though we do need to press him for answers, seeing that bitter, grumpy hermit now will ruin this amazing day. Perhaps tomorrow, but not today."

For a while, Conrart stared at his brother, as if searching for sincerity in those emerald-green eyes. More than once that day, Wolfram had called Conrart 'Brother'—the former decided to drop the 'Little Big' part, deeming it no longer suitable—and it never failed to silence the older man in an agreeable way. This pleased Wolfram immensely, yet he privately suspected there was more to the drastic change in Conrart's disposition.

Through lowered lashes, Wolfram studied Conrart. Conrart had leaned forward—so close that Wolfram could feel the breath fanning his face—and was thumbing something from his cheeks and kept running fingers through his tangled hair, as if grooming him, even though their appearance hardly mattered in such a place. Then again, such caring gesture was one of his brother's old habits.

With one last stroke on the blond locks, Conrart said, "There, you look like the prince that you are again."

Wolfram grunted and rolled his eyes.

Conrart smiled, wrinkling the corners of the hazel eyes which gleamed with fondness. Wolfram suddenly felt guilty for doubting Conrart's intentions. He reprimanded himself for his skepticism: Conrart had quite a scare when he almost lost his baby brother to the feral canines, what more could there be?

Conrart collected their belongings, and then rose to his feet. After handing over Wolfram's sword, Conrart tugged at the sack concealing the bony shoulders. "Something tells me we're sitting in the middle of an extremely low tide," Conrart said, glancing at the moss-covered wall of rocks behind. "There'll be a new moon tonight. We better leave before the high tide comes in."

After a moment of consideration, Wolfram stood up as well. "I'm curious as to what's beyond those trees," he said, motioning to the cliff.

"All right then," Conrart said, extending a hand to Wolfram, "let's keep walking and take the first ascending path we see."

Despite the countless times his brother had offered his hand since that morning, Wolfram still found it awkward to accept on every occasion. However, once he had overcome the momentary diffidence, once he was held by the warm hand, he always found letting go even more difficult.

OooooooooO

The sun hung low on the horizon by the time they reached the upper ground of the coast. After a steep climb, Wolfram leaned against the trunk of a palm tree to catch his breath. Every inch of his skin exposed by the light clothing—which was no more than a tattered sack over skimpy underwear—was moist with perspiration and seawater carried by the constant breeze.

From the corner of his eye, Wolfram saw Conrart go near the edge of the cliff where the sound of waves crashing against the rocks came from. With a weary sigh, Wolfram joined his brother. He instantly recognized the small bay below them: it was the same one they had stopped by to rest earlier, though the water level was now no more than a few feet below them.

Wolfram trudged toward the ascending path they took and found a portion of it submerged under the rising tide. "I suppose we can't go back to our cave until the next ebb tide," he remarked, squinting against a sudden spray of water from below, "whenever that will be."

"Most likely after midnight," Conrart said, turning around with his back toward the sea. He then noticed that the few trees scattered in the area sloped downward. "Should we see what's over there?"

Around fifty paces later, they reached a circular sunken place—no larger than the dining hall of Covenant Castle—abundant in coconut palms. At the center was a shack. The fatigue in Wolfram's limbs was soon replaced with enthusiasm. Without further ado, he scampered down the gentle slope and went around the crudely built cabin.

The only door—locked from the outside with a heavy plank inserted between a set of open cleats—had quite a character: its upper half was made of pinewood and coconut husks; its lower half was made of redwood; and none of the three sides of the doorframe was of the same wood. All four walls of the shanty were from different stones and logs. It was as if the original structure had crumbled from old age and had been restored many times but never of the same material. There were four windows, one on each side, made from portholes of a ship. Near the doorframe was a brass bell.

Wolfram inspected the flared opening of the brass bell and found an inscription. "Brother, look!" he exclaimed. "What an odd writing."

Conrart's narrowed eyes widened upon recognizing the English alphabet. "SS Talin," he read aloud. "Whoever was on that steamship must have come from Earth; either that or—"

Wolfram gasped, mouth left agape.

Conrart shrugged at the silent question of the incredulous stare. "Either from Earth or some nation that uses one of the many languages in that world," he remarked. Although he feigned indifference, he began to fear that the island was not on the map, an unknown territory which connected with other worlds.

Conrart peered into the nearest porthole that was devoid of glass covering. The dwelling was small enough for everything inside to be visible from where he stood. On the left was a sunken hearth enclosed by uneven stones, hanging at its center was a hook held by a chain secured to the low timber ceiling. Near the crude fireplace—which was presumably the cooking area as well—were three stools and a dining table made from irregularly-shaped wood. The center and sole leg of the table was a large, heavy-looking wooden spool with thick rope wound around it. Oil lamps and chests of various heights and sizes lined the wall across. At the right side, on the sand that was the floor, was a bare mattress, heavily mapped with stains. Conrart inclined his head and perceived the most probable cause of the discoloration: the wide gaps between timbers of the ceiling were covered in white triangular canvas—a sail most probably—with long rips. When Conrart's gaze returned to the bed, his cheeks stretched as he grinned from ear to ear: Wolfram was now sprawled along the narrow mattress.

A distant sound of thunder prompted Conrart to glance up. The ominous clouds gathering near the east and the starless sky in shades of purple and orange told him it would be another rainy night. And because the hearth in the shanty seemed untouched for days at the very least, Conrart shrugged and crossed the front door which swung outward, allowing himself into some stranger's haven.

OooooooooO

Before dusk settled they were able to gather enough fallen branches and twigs to last the whole night. Conrart smiled throughout a meal of broiled fish, while Wolfram ran a string of speculations about the owner of the humble abode. When neither of them could find any satisfactory conclusion, Wolfram's curiosity went to Earth, and eagerly listened to Conrart's stories about that world. Despite having walked for most of the day, Wolfram appeared in good spirits; this alone alleviated whatever exhaustion Conrart felt in his limbs.

After dinner they removed the grubby cloths from their feet, and sat on the mattress with their backs against the wall.

"The rumbling of thunder is growing close. Rain is on its way here," Wolfram murmured. "If you don't mind, our cracked soles will have to wait."

Conrart glanced at Wolfram who had just closed his eyes. Conrart then reached for his brother's head to rest on his shoulder.

"Our feet aren't that bad. Moreover, it's not advisable to use your healing magic yet," Conrart said softly, combing the tangled blond locks with his fingers. "Do you want to lie down properly?"

Wolfram muttered an indistinct reply. For a long while after that, only the occasional crackling of fire from the hearth filled the cabin. Conrart indulged in the comfortable silence and warmth on his side. Wolfram had fallen asleep in no time, even the absent-minded rubbing Conrart did along the thin arm elicited no reaction.

Conrart's gaze settled on the chests by the wall opposite the door. Earlier, Wolfram tried to prize a sword blade into the space below one of the locked lids. Though curious as well, Conrart firmly said that they're not to tamper with anything until they're certain no one inhabited the place.

The oil lamps—without a single drop of oil—and the compass at the center of the ship wheel they found behind the chests all had the same inscription as the bell: SS Talin. Conrart was aware that most—if not all—steamships had been replaced by diesel-powered ships on Earth. Moreover, the oil lamps and ship wheel were outdated in comparison to what the Humans in said world currently used. If in case the nautical items were indeed from a ship built between the late eighteenth century and early twentieth century on Earth, where time moved much slower, then the cabin would be at least a few centuries old—assuming that the island was somewhere in the world where Shin Makoku existed. And if the owner of the cabin was Human, was it possible for him to be alive still? From the short time Conrart had spent with the old man, it was somehow insinuated that no other mortal lived in the island. Was the old man responsible for the cabin's maintenance? But why would he go through the trouble only to leave it uninhabited? Wolfram's question over dinner repeated in his mind: Did someone fall in love with the island enough to build a home? Or was the owner simply unable to find a way out? There were three stools by the dining table; therefore, the owner could not have been alone. Then again, they could be mere surplus from the presumably shipwrecked SS Talin.

Wolfram's head slipped from Conrart's shoulder and slumped forward, disrupting the latter's musing. Then, a flash of lightning filtered through the sheet riddled with holes and the wide gaps of the timber ceiling. It had slipped Conrart's mind to move the mattress before Wolfram had fallen asleep. Before Conrart could awaken his brother, rain pattered against the feeble roof, a few drops landing on his shoulder.

"Wolfram," Conrart said as he began to lift Wolfram by the upper arm. "Wolfram," he repeated, but his voice was drowned by a roaring thunder.

Wolfram awoke to the deep, rolling sound. He frowned at the steady trickle of water from several areas.

They regarded the low ceiling and, shortly, agreed to move the mattress by the door where the leak in the roof was much less. Once they were done, Wolfram plopped down. He curled sluggishly on his side with his back against the door that had no lock and left ajar.

Wolfram's gaze went back and forth between Conrart, who was fumbling for something under the dining table, and the flames which burst, sizzled, and danced as drops of water dripped near its center. Before Wolfram could ask what Conrart was doing, the latter returned to the mattress with the end of the thick rope from the spool under the table. The cleat, which served as a door handle, was soon tied to the rope.

"The door swings outward," Conrart explained as he lay down, bending his knees when raindrops trickled down from his toes to ankle. "And… well… you move a lot," he finished, grinning into the sleepy emerald-green eyes.

"Hmph," Wolfram huffed lightly. With both hands tucked under his cheek, he shifted closer to Conrart until the tip of his nose was a hairsbreadth away from the tan chiseled jaw. He then counterattacked with, "You smell funny."

Conrart laughed softly and turned to nuzzle his brother's nose. Though such affectionate act between them was long forgotten, it came surprisingly natural, as if the moment even called for it. The color that sprouted on the usually pale cheeks encouraged Conrart to retrace steps further into their past relationship: he placed an arm around the thin form next to him, gliding palm and fingers along the protruding spine.

"Are you referring to the stench of smoke, dirt, sweat," Conrart said, pausing to sniff the top of the blond hair and throwing back his head as if offended by the smell, "and oily, stinky scalp? Because you exude them all as well."

At the teasing, Wolfram's knee struck Conrart's, eliciting a chuckle from the latter.

"You must be cold. Should we put on our trousers?" Conrart asked.

Wolfram shook his head and snuggled into the warmth next to him. Further movement would break the languorous spell brought about by the soothing strokes on his back, the pattering of rain, the crackling of fire which warmed their lower limbs, the occasional thunder, and the constant whipping of waves against the rocks.

With a tender smile playing on his lips, Conrart watched the green eyes, half veiled under heavy lids and thick blond lashes, blink several times before finally closing for good. Though the sixty-five-year-old Mazoku had the wit and intelligence of a two hundred-year-old, he appeared no older than a thirteen-year-old Human and as inexperienced as a boy that age. Perhaps Wolfram would always be his 'baby' brother who needed much guidance and protection; a responsibility Conrart was painfully reminded of when they were attacked by the wolves.

Conrart was grateful that the distance between him and Wolfram had vanished overnight, yet a certain amount of guilt hampered his contentment. The initiative to break the barrier between them was not solely because he almost lost Wolfram in the wolf-infested island. Conrart was well aware that his sudden dismissal of his brother's shortcomings—including, but not limited to, countless disparaging remarks and a blinkered standpoint on Humans—was mostly because of the supposedly 'only way out' the old man had imparted.

He had asked the old man how they could successfully cross the rough seas surrounding the island. And the old man had replied with, _"Forbidden love touches the guardian of this land like no other. Surely he'll let you through in exchange for such memory." _

As the advice repeated in Conrart's mind, his glance settled once more on the perfect face of the sleeping man in his arm. He discerned the meaning of those words perfectly. Indeed his love for Wolfram was infinite. However, it was of the purest form, not the amorous kind his naïve baby brother once yearned for them to experience together. They were siblings after all.

The old man attempted to change his mind by imparting another mystery: "_This haven is for the discarded and the cursed; everything born in this forsaken place is to be left behind, forgotten like the sands of oblivion. That rascal's beautiful memories of you will be your payment out of here. Therefore, he cannot resent you for something he will not remember."_

Even so….

A heavy sigh escaped Conrart's lips as he shook his head. He tightened his embrace around the slender form and kissed the top of Wolfram's head. How could he even consider such madness? There wasn't even any proof that the old man spoke the truth, that what he said was indeed the only way out. What if isolation had dulled the old man's wisdom, robbed him of sound imagination? Perhaps detachment from civilization made him crave for entertainment of the foulest nature. There were countless "perhaps" and "what ifs". Reality provided enough argument to discredit the old man's recommendation.

Before long, Conrart managed to convince himself that the old man was to be trusted no more. He was grateful that the foolish suggestion had compelled him to reconcile with Wolfram, but that was as far as he would allow such idea to influence their lives.

A romantic interlude between brothers was unthinkable, utter insanity.

Once Wolfram had regained his strength, a new raft would be built. No matter how many trials necessary, they had to make it out of the island without compromising morality. With this new resolve, Conrart closed his eyes.

OooooooooO

Wolfram blinked, trying to get accustomed to the cold darkness. The fire in the hearth had been extinguished; the waves sounded much farther than he recalled; and the rain had stopped. His lips were pressed against something smooth and hard; Conrart's jaw, he supposed as a puff of air blew near the tip of his nose. He glanced up, and the arm around his shoulders pulled him closer to what he believed was Conrart's chest. In response, he slipped a foot between Conrart's legs, curling his cold toes along the muscular calves. He was grateful that Conrart chose not to comment on this gesture of affection he was accustomed to in the past, when he used to sleep with his then 'Little Big Brother.'

"Have you been up all this time? Should I rekindle the fire?" Wolfram asked. When he sensed the shaking of Conrart's, he asked, "Why not?"

"Strange noises woke me not long ago," Conrart answered quietly. "It's best not to attract attention."

Before Wolfram could question further, trumpet calls of elephants came from somewhere below. The rumbling grew deeper, fiercer, and escalated into a roar. From the heavy thuds and snapping of branches—perhaps even trunks of trees—it sounded like the elephants were charging errantly, as if intent on crushing everything on their path. From the struggling and angry cries that persisted, it was also possible that they were annihilating even their own race.

"Is that what you heard?" Wolfram asked in a whisper, though he knew they were a good distance from the disturbance.

"No," Conrart replied. "There were howling and growl—"

There was a loud thump on the door behind Wolfram, and was immediately followed by continuous scratching. Someone or _something_ was trying to get in. This prompted them to their feet. Wolfram grabbed the cleat that served as the handle to prevent the door from being prized open.

Conrart peered out the porthole that was the window closest to the doorframe. Clouds had parted, revealing countless stars with a brilliance that compensated for the lack of illumination from the new moon. From the corner of his eye, Conrart saw the crouched intruder suddenly stretch to its full length along the door. Its front paws clawed the pinewood and coconut husks.

"Stand back and don't touch the rope!" Conrart shouted immediately, motioning to the rope secured to the cleat.

The warning came too late: Wolfram's bare hands were already around the thick rope when the door swung outward as it was yanked; the small table spun three hundred and sixty degrees as the spool that was its leg turned. Wolfram yelped when the coarse fibers of the heavy cord dug and ripped the flesh of his palms and fingers. But whatever pain there was vanished instantly at the sight of the unexpected guest: a tiger of at least ten feet on hind legs greeted him with a menacing growl from its widely open strong jaws, flashing approximately three-inch upper canines. The tiger briefly waved its sharp claws—longer than Wolfram's forefingers—before retracting and lowering them to the ground. Then, it remained on the spot, growling, while its amber eyes stared into Wolfram's. Wolfram couldn't help but feel that it was conveying a message in an angry tone.

Conrart retreated from the window and stealthily headed for their swords by the chests. The beast roared in Conrart's direction; and this somehow convinced Wolfram that it was indeed trying to impart something with them.

"Brother, stop," Wolfram said over his shoulder. "It could've easily taken us both by now, but it hasn't."

"It's better to be prepared," Conrart said calmly, bending backward slightly to grab the hilt of his sword. "But I won't harm it unless necessary," he added, speaking into the amber eyes of the beast.

Then, the tiger fell considerably silent and advanced with its graceful feline stride. It crossed the mattress, brushing its thick golden fur with black and bright orange stripes against Wolfram's thigh. The large cat encircled Wolfram leisurely, pausing momentarily to lock eyes with Conrart's watchful ones. After completing a circle, the tiger proceeded toward the side where the mattress was originally situated. Much to their surprise, it started digging near the wall, spewing mud of sand and dirt everywhere.

"What's it searching for?" Wolfram whispered to his brother who was now beside him. He then added in jest, "Do you suppose it wants to defecate here?"

All of a sudden, aside from the ruckus the elephants were making from the lower regions of the island, they heard others animals calling: wolves howled endlessly; bulls bellowed aggressively; pigs squealed frantically as if trapped in the clutches of an enemy; lions roared from seemingly all sides; and many other creatures made their intense emotions felt in the middle of the night.

"What's happening down there?" Wolfram asked.

Conrart ignored the question and took Wolfram's hands instead. He examined the fresh cuts on the fingers and palms. "It's good they're not deep," he said, thumbing the blood oozing and applying pressure on the flesh. "However, I'd like you to use your healing magic to close the wounds. My mind won't be at ease unless you're able to wield a sword. Something tells me that not all of them will be as merciful as this big fellow."

Wolfram clasped his hands together and summoned his healing magic while keeping an eye on the tiger.

The tiger suddenly ceased all movement and cocked its head, as if it heard something unusual in the already chaotic island. The tiger abandoned whatever business he had on the ground of the cabin and headed for the door, leaving paw prints on the stained mattress as it stepped outside.

Wolfram and Conrart stood under the doorway, in front of them was the tiger who then appeared in anticipation of something. In a few seconds they saw what most likely caught the tiger's keen hearing: a bulky figure descended the slope of the sunken area with a rather long creature swaying in its grasp. The black, shaggy hair and outline of the form resembled that of a bear's. It didn't seem to notice them, and walked toward a tight cluster of coconut palms. It dropped its victim behind the thin trunks; what looked like a head landed on the ground angled unnaturally, and shapes similar to antlers appeared uneven, as if one had been broken.

The animal expelled air in grunts, revealing that it was indeed a bear. With its excellent sense of smell at work, its attention was soon diverted from the carcass of what was unmistakably a deer to something else hiding amidst the shadows created by the trees.

Soon a distinctive mane that could only belong to a lion came into plain view.

Wolfram held his breath when the lion, light buff in color with blond ruff mane, strutted toward the expectant black bear. He had not seen many wild animal fights; thus he couldn't suppress the excitement building in his chest as he remained watchful.

At first the bear huffed and retreated a few paces as if fearful of the lion. Then, it seemed to change its mind and charged forward with a resonant growl, warning the lion that threatened to despoil its precious kill. As the two large carnivores drew closer to each other, the sound of enraged beasts from below echoed incessantly, providing the perfect accompaniment to an imminent battle.

The lion quickened its pace when the bear stood on hind legs. Then, with a menacing roar to intimidate its opponent, the great feline leapt with a paw swiping toward the bear's neck; but the thick black coat and tough skin cushioned the impact of the sharp claws. When the bear sensed another oncoming jab, it deflected the lion's paw with a slow-but-weighty swipe. The force of the bear's punch threw the lion on its side. The bear advanced, not willing to give the lion time to recover. But the bear of enormous girth was unable to move swiftly; by the time it reached the lion, the agile beast was up and ready for its next offensive move.

For a few good minutes the wild creatures continued to lunge attacks, struggling and tumbling on the sand every now and then.

When the lion was hurled against a tree, it remained resilient though visibly in pain as it limped toward its opponent. The bear slowly circled the snarling lion, the former huffing through its open mouth, as if apprehensive yet reluctant to surrender. The lion, however, was proud; and every blow and bite received noticeably increased its aggressiveness and determination to win.

Without warning, the large feline charged forward, and its right claws successfully latched onto the bear's shoulder, while its left paw clobbered and scratched the snout. Blood oozed out of the deep cuts in the bear's face. The bear roared loudly, the resounding cry seemed filled with both fury and humiliation. It then trashed its head along with its robust body, swiping at the lion's sides while attempting to bite its neck.

Before long the lion was hurled to the ground again. Sooner than the lion could recover, the bear delivered a mighty blow down its back, bones snapping in an instant.

Wolfram's enthusiasm petered out at the sight of the dead feline. "I expected the lion to put up a good fight, if not emerge victorious," he remarked, glancing up at Conrart.

Conrart offered a small smile. "Judging from the light color of his mane, the lion may not even be mature yet," he said. "Then again, strategy, determination, and timing are crucial in every fight. One must be aware of their weakness and use their strengths to compensate. Bears may have powerful swipes, but a lion's agility combined with sharp claws and canines could prove to be more lethal."

The bear began to drag the lion in the direction of the deer.

"Get your sword," Conrart said quietly. "He's noticed us and may have plans of increasing his carcass collection."

Wolfram wanted to say that he could easily wield his fire element for protection but obeyed his brother to prevent a lengthy debate.

The crouching tiger in front of them started to stretch lazily; the movement from the large cat didn't go unnoticed. Wolfram grabbed his sword and returned quickly to Conrart's side by the doorway, not wanting to miss any action should the tiger decide to contend with the bear. But the tiger simply stood on its legs, head upturned to the sky, while the bear appeared preoccupied, feasting on its freshest kill.

Suddenly the palm leaves rustled vigorously, accompanied by a violent flutter above the cabin. When the timber ceiling began to shake, Conrart grabbed Wolfram's hand and stepped outside to stand beside the tiger that continued to glance upward. Before any of them could blink, a purple dragon, with strips of upright silver hair from the center of its head down to the tip of its tail, flapped rubber-like wings above them and soared higher into the sky. Another dragon, crimson and scaly, with a long body similar to a gigantic serpent, came from behind and pursued the purple dragon. Although the huge reptilian beasts were soon at a great distance from them, the sky appeared ablaze whenever their piercing screams were heard.

"Have the creatures gone mad?" Wolfram asked, observing the tiger's rolling gait as it walked away from them.

"It appears that way," Conrart said.

A howl came from across, where the whipping of waves against the rocks was noticeably less than earlier that night. Several other howls followed.

"It must be ebb tide, because I think those wolves are going up the same path we took to get here," Wolfram said, inwardly admiring the tiger's keen senses as it ascended the slope just before the first howl was heard nearby.

"That's right. It's well after midnight now," Conrart said. "Let's go inside."

Wolfram did as he was told even though fear was far from him; if anything, the various noises—big and small—from the entire island caused by the unknown was somewhat thrilling.

As soon as Wolfram closed the door behind him, Conrart secured the rope to the cleat once again. Together they rolled back the spool-legged-table to its original place near the hearth until the thick cord's line was tight and straight.

"Something tells me this is exactly the rope's main purpose," Wolfram remarked. As an afterthought he added, "Though I don't understand why the door was built to swing outward."

Conrart sat cross-legged on the soiled mattress. When Wolfram remained standing by the porthole, peering outside, Conrart said, "He'll be fine. He's probably taking care of the entire pack by now."

Wolfram exhaled loudly, not certain whether he appreciated or disapproved of his brother's ability to read his mind so easily. "Who's 'he'?" he asked, frowning to feign confusion.

Conrart merely flashed a lopsided grin that seemed to say, _"You know full well whom I'm referring to."_

"The tiger, you mean?" Wolfram asked, finally moving away from the porthole to sit beside Conrart. "Why would I be concerned about that beast?"

Conrart slipped an arm around Wolfram's shoulders. "When you were young, you've always wanted to have a large pet—aside from a horse—but mother always feared she'd lose your head and limbs to anything larger than a domestic cat," Conrart answered. "And I've observed how your face lit up when the tiger brushed its fur against your thighs."

"Hmph! Liar. How could you have seen my reaction when you were behind me?" Wolfram said, smirking. "While it's true that I find large animals—especially when fighting—quite interesting, it doesn't mean I've grown fond of that wild creature."

"Are you trying to convince me… or yourself?" Conrart teased.

Wolfram sneered in response.

After a moment of comfortable silence—the ruckus outside not included—Conrart said, "This is some place we've stepped on."

"The animals here are indeed peculiar," Wolfram said, drawing up his knees to his chest and crossing his arms over his shins. The chilly air—forgotten temporarily by recent occurrence—had made its presence felt once again.

Conrart got on his knees and reached for the sack containing their uniforms. Their inner and outer shirts were all devoid of sleeves, and both pairs of trousers had long rips; nevertheless, the clothing would still offer additional warmth. He then handed Wolfram all that was left of the von Bielefeld uniform.

After they donned the additional clothing, they resumed their conversation in the dark. They discussed various topics, airing opinions without reservations, silencing only whenever the presence of a creature was heard nearby.

Although danger was palpable in the world outside, inside the cabin Wolfram had never felt more secure within the protective arms around him.

OooooooooO

A putrid stench assailed Wolfram's senses. He opened his eyes and squinted against the beams of sunlight coming through the gaping holes of the decrepit ceiling.

Wolfram sat up and found Conrart crouched before a hole in the ground where they originally found the mattress. Beside Conrart was a square wooden board about the same size as the opening. Wolfram was about to join his brother but the decomposed odor held him back.

"If there's nothing interesting there," Wolfram said, pinching his nose, "I'd appreciate it if you can seal that nasty hole."

"The rain had loosened the sand and dirt, revealing this hidden hatch. It's much bigger down there. I see a ladder and broken chains," Conrart said. "I'd have gone inside if not for the stench and if you were awake to haul me back up. On the other hand, I suppose I could've held my breath and used the rope under the table."

Wolfram suddenly remembered something: "The tiger must be familiar with that secret place. He was digging that same spot last night." Another thought entered his mind: "Do you suppose he used to live here? Maybe he was a pet of the owner."

"My thoughts exactly," Conrart said, nodding. "After you fell asleep last night, I looked out the window and noticed him circling the area, as if guarding it."

Wolfram got to his feet and looked outside each porthole, stopping last at the side where Conrart was. "I don't see him anywhere," Wolfram said. He then covered his nose and mouth as he peered into the hole. "What in the world is that for?"

The opening was small, about two feet on each side, but enough to allow a person through. Wolfram viewed it from another angle and realized that the compartment underneath was at least a third of the shanty's size. The stone walls were approximately two persons deep. And just as Conrart had mentioned, there was a rope ladder and a couple of chains on the ground.

"I'm as clueless as you are," Conrart admitted. He motioned to the rotten floorboard riddled with holes and deep grooves akin to claw marks. "There are bolts on either side, which makes me think it was designed to enable whoever or whatever uses it to enter and leave as desired."

The underground space that reeked of decay reminded Wolfram of a prison cell, where its inhabitants defecated and urinated. No longer able to stand the offensive smell, Wolfram darted to the door. He untied the rope attached to the cleat and swung the door to allow fresh air in.

"Haaah!" Wolfram exhaled loudly. His gaze swept the trees and the ground all the way up the slope. "It's peaceful again! Oh? I wonder… Ah, well, he must've grown weary from the lack of action."

"Do you mean the tiger? You know, that big fellow is quite interesting," Conrart remarked, chuckling. "When I went outside earlier, he was resting by the door. Though he followed me with his eyes, he remained lying on his back, bent limbs splayed—and one of his hind legs raised against the wall. The vision reminded me of your bed habits."

"Please! I don't lift my legs when I sleep, yet you've been saying that since I was a child," Wolfram said, throwing a glare over his shoulder.

"Yes you do," Conrart insisted, flashing a lopsided grin. He then covered the hole with the wooden board. "When you used to beg me to sleep in your chamber, I would wake up before you and find your foot way up, resting against a post of the bed."

"I had never _begged_ you to sleep with me! _Requested _for your company, yes, but the decision to spend the entire night had always been your own," Wolfram said, hands flying over his hips.

Conrart laughed softly as he secured the bolts of the hatch. "Ah, pardon me. That does sound more accurate," he said, a trifle patronizingly. He then added quietly, "Incidentally, last night reminded me of how it feels to have my baby brother in my arms."

Wolfram held his breath.

"For years on end we spent the nights together, yet it remained a novelty each time," Conrart said, flashing Wolfram another lopsided grin. "And now I realized how much I missed that feeling."

Wolfram turned away from the warm hazel eyes and faced the trees once again. "Whatever," he mumbled, temporarily at a loss for better words. His heartbeat accelerated, his blood came to life, rushing to his face and ears. It had been decades since he last slept with his brother so intimately. Last night, Conrart caressed his back whenever he stirred, entangled their limbs to add warmth and prevent him from moving too much, and covered his ears when the wild animals' noise grew unbearable. He cuddled Conrart in response each time. Every gesture of affection was exchanged effortlessly, spontaneously.

But that was last night, when Wolfram was tired and it was dark and cold. Now, in broad daylight, their renewed closeness made him self-conscious once again.

Conrart straightened up. He then reached for a bamboo water container and it held out to Wolfram. "There were plenty of coconuts on the ground this morning," Conrart said. "Since we're out of drinking water, I filled two containers with coconut liquid."

"Thank you," Wolfram muttered, accepting the drink proffered.

Conrart sat on a stool by the table. "Your voice sounds much better, by the way."

Wolfram nodded, his mind drifting elsewhere. Now that the euphoria had somewhat subsided, there was room for facts and speculations: He was Conrart's first love, but that was before Julia von Wincott entered their lives. Even after death she continued to live in whatever was left of Conrart's inconsolable heart. Would the new owner of Julia's soul inherit Conrart's adoration for her? Oh, how he resented the new owner of Julia's soul already! Why should he be content as second best in Conrart's disenchanted world? Wolfram hated the answers logic supplied him with. But he did suppose that that was the highest position he could ever achieve in Conrart's life now.

In a matter of seconds, the tingling sensations were trampled on by a more rational outlook.

With the rim of the bamboo cup pressed between lips, Wolfram noticed his brother looking at him, probably even staring for a while now. Suddenly aware of how he appeared—blushing and sneaking glances at his sole companion—he chided himself for losing grip on reality and providing reasons for Conrart to believe he was the same baby brother who thought the world of him.

Wolfram's rose-colored view of their situation was shattering. All of a sudden the stench left lingering in the air made him nauseous; he pitied himself as he looked around the ramshackle cabin they spent the night in; his poor, cracked soles had grown thick with dried dirt that it felt as if he was wearing some invisible footwear; and he curbed the urge to burn the pathetic sack over Conrart's trousers.

"I'm starving," Wolfram stated flatly. "At this point, I'd kill even for our usual _tasteless_ fish. I feel _real_ dirty—if I roll on the ground it'll hardly make a difference. My stinky hair's so tangled that I'd rather cut it all off. And my back and buttocks are sore from sleeping in primitive dwellings."

Although the string of complaints came suddenly, Conrart was not surprised at all. In fact, he had been expecting that moment for seven days now—since they arrived on that island. He also found it admirable that Wolfram's tolerance lasted that long.

"It's almost noon. The tide should have receded by now. We could head out anytime soon," Conrart said, reaching for a coconut he had left at a corner earlier.

"Good, then we can have a bland meal, wash ourselves without soap, and see if that grumpy old man survived last night," Wolfram said unenthusiastically.

"Something tells me that whatever took place last night was not unusual for him," Conrart said, holding out the coconut to Wolfram. "Earlier I suddenly remembered that he said to expect you to recover consciousness on the morning of the new moon. He mentioned 'new moon' more than a couple of times; thus I asked him when that was exactly. Only then did he say, _'After three full nights.'_ Perhaps the moon plays an important role here—for him to be mindful of its exact phase. I want speak to him about this today."

"Are you suggesting that the new moon affected the behavior of the animals?" Wolfram asked uninterestedly, carving out the hard shell of the fruit with the edge of his sword.

"There's that possibility," Conrart answered. "We don't know how much longer we'll be here. Therefore, we need to learn more about the residents of this island. I hope to speak with the old man before nightfall. We could try a different route—see what's at the back—but I prefer to take the same one yesterday to save time."

Wolfram nodded as he scooped out the fleshy white meat of the fruit. While chewing the coconut meat, he pondered over a particular possibility: what if they were stuck in the island for good? Conrart would never be acquainted with the new owner of Julia's soul then. Conrart would never make any new acquaintance, period. And because the old man didn't count, he—the once adorable baby brother—would be Conrart's sole companion for life. They could start their new lives by reinforcing the cabin's roof—

"What's so amusing?"

Conrart's voice broke Wolfram's reverie. Wolfram hadn't realized he was grinning like a fool until then. He waved a hand about his face, scowling at Conrart to mind his own business.

Then, Wolfram wondered if the new moon had twisted his mind.

OooooooooO

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**On the Sands of Oblivion**

(Chapter Five)

"…_he would be reunited with his special someone at the end of that backbreaking journey."_

OooooooooO

It was early afternoon. Wolfram and Conrart walked along the shoreline littered with carcasses of animals, leaves, coconuts, broken branches, thin trunks, and other wreckage that attested to the previous night's disturbance. They were headed for the old man's dwelling, to obtain information on the new moon's relationship to the inhabitants' behavior, and to request more medicine for Wolfram's throat. They had been journeying for over an hour continuously, drinking coconut juice without stopping, but even though hunger was expected during that time of day, the aftermath of the chaos the night before was enough to rob anyone's appetite.

With a heavy sigh, Wolfram glanced up. Thin wisps of clouds adorned the azure sky; the sun appeared like a massive brilliant ball, warming the calms seas; and the gentle breeze caressed his body. The agreeable weather was as deceptive as the harmless, peaceful appearance of the island. After being stranded for seven days, Wolfram was aware that nothing remained constant in that place. And evidence was everywhere, being dragged away by the survivors, literally.

Wolfram lowered his gaze back to the less pleasant reality. "Ugh… this is depressing… disgusting…" he muttered, watching animals that survived carry between their teeth mutilated bodies toward the dense growth of trees, while birds of various sizes flapped their wings enthusiastically as they swooped to the ground, alighting on any instant meal, claiming what hadn't been claimed. "I suppose they're going to have a feast for a few good weeks."

"It's much worse on the battlefield," Conrart remarked.

"At least nobody eats the dead during war," Wolfram quipped.

"Hmm… true…."

Wolfram regarded the placid countenance of his companion with curiosity. In a more serious tone, he remarked, "It must've been harrowing to witness so many of those you know— acquaintances, friends, comrades—die before you."

Conrart nodded, staring straight ahead. "It was."

"And it must've been a bigger blow when you found out an important person in your life, someone you assumed safe from the dangers of the war, had also passed away."

Identifying instantly whom Wolfram had referred to, Conrart slowed down, but offered no response.

"What exactly did you feel when you heard of her demise?"

Conrart released his brother's hand. "It's not important for you to know," he said in a clipped tone, and resumed his brisk pace.

It was only then that Wolfram realized Conrart hadn't let go of his hand since they left the cabin near the cliff. However, Julia had broken the spell between them, as was usually the case for Wolfram. Now, more than ever, he intended to tear down the wall around Conrart's heart, in hopes of releasing her memories along with the emotions imprisoned within.

"Upon your return, you locked yourself in your chamber before I got the chance to welcome you back," Wolfram said nonchalantly, taking great strides to catch up with Conrart. "Did you cry? Ah, of course you did—stupid of me to even ask. What I want to know is if you resented the injured for expending her strength. Or perhaps you blamed her kindness, her selflessness, for exhausting herself, for not valuing her own life. Or did you hate yourself—your duty—for not being there to protect her?"

"Please, let's not dredge up the past."

Wolfram grabbed his brother's hand. "Why can't I ask about what happened years ago? She's been dead for years," he reasoned, ignoring the twitching of the chiseled jaw line. "_Years_."

"I said, I don't want to discuss this."

Wolfram, however, refused to drop the subject. "Why can't you let go?" he asked, wrinkling his brow. "Is it possible you're hoping the person who inherited her soul—the future Maoh—would fall in love with you and not Adelbert von Grantz?"

Conrart halted abruptly. After a deep breath, he turned to face his inquisitive companion. "Are you truly insensitive, or are your insults deliberate?'

Wolfram stared into the cold hazel eyes and squeezed the equally cold fingers. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch into a nervous smile. "Mother said wounds heal in time. How is it possible that her wisdom doesn't apply to you?" he reasoned, shifting his gaze to the tightly pressed lips, and then to the bobbing bone protruding at Conrart's throat as the man swallowed pronouncedly. "All her husbands passed away unexpectedly—like Julia—and yet mother managed to move on."

"I'm not mother. Moreover, unlike our fathers, Julia was special. There will never be another soul as untainted and unique, as _perfect_." Anticipating that Wolfram would argue their fathers were remarkable as well, Conrart quickly added, "Then again, perhaps it's because I loved her more than mother has loved any of those she lost."

Wolfram couldn't prevent his upper lip from curling into a sneer: the confession, delivered matter-of-factly, evoked vehement displeasure. He then glowered at his brother's back, which grew farther away by the second. The sword secured around the lean hips and the drinking bamboo container tucked under an arm swung with every great stride.

"She wasn't perfect!" Wolfram shouted. "Her constant expression, kindness, and ideals _bored_ me. Her oh-so-gentle ways and tone rendered our lessons tedious. And if personality suggests one's passion, then it's possible she'd make a dull lover! Heard of the dreaded word, 'frigid'? I have! It happens to be an occasional hushed topic of servants. Julia could be one of those unfortunate souls. Are you listening? It's rude not to acknowledge someone who's having a conversation with you!"

Conrart didn't glance behind. On the second day of reestablishing their close relationship, Wolfram already manifested undue familiarity by intruding on his privacy, voicing childish opinions and insulting Julia.

"Underneath her impeccable composure and creaseless garments, it's a fact that she belches and expels gas like any man—all women do, for your information. Did you get to sleep with her? Considering her strictly guarded morals, I highly doubt you went beyond a peck on the back of her hand. Therefore, how can you be sure she doesn't snore—perhaps even louder than me? Or drool? Perhaps she even leaves her mouth widely open!"

The raspy voice sounded distant, reminding Conrart to slow down. He knew that Wolfram expected him to turn around, wait for him to catch up, and then endure and tolerate the indecorous remarks about Julia. Although his brother's appearance was similar to that of a thirteen-year-old human, at sixty-five he was officially a young adult by demon standard; hence such improper behavior was inexcusable.

"You've idealized her into someone she wasn't."

Though faint, Conrart heard every word as he walked along the sand.

"She didn't live long enough for you to see how imperfect and ordinary she was. She'll remain unblemished in your eyes for the simple truth that the dead can't make any more mistakes! Her sudden demise left you with only grand memories, perpetuated your illusions of her greatness, and, consequently, augmenting the devastating loss you immerse yourself in daily. Hey, did you hear me? Because I believe I've made a good point just now."

It sounded as though the stubborn Mazoku hadn't moved an inch, and Conrart fought the urge to look over his shoulder. Wolfram was being deliberately rude to Julia, despite the fact that she was the only woman, aside from their mother, whom he truly respected. Conrart was almost certain that his sibling was disparaging Julia only to provoke him, to spite him because of his refusal to speak of her earlier.

"Come back here! You'll regret it if you don't!"

Conrart shook his head in disapproval. Gwendal, who was known to be a stern disciplinarian, had spoiled their youngest brother by yielding to every unreasonable demand. Fortunately, being stranded in that island provided Conrart an opportunity to do something about it. He then resolved to start at that instant by proceeding along the shoreline, ignoring the succeeding threat—though indistinct, it sounded like another vacuous threat. And what exactly could Wolfram threaten him with? he challenged silently, shaking his head again.

Conrart then recognized the cluster of trees ahead. The thin, leafless, dried-up looking trunks appeared out of place near the water. And it was for this reason that they became a landmark whenever he had gone fishing in a river around three hundred paces to the left of the cluster. Because it would take several more hours to reach the hermit's cave, they should have a decent meal before proceeding. A bath would invigorate them as well… and, hopefully, cool tempers.

Wolfram had grown silent for the last couple of minutes. The only sounds Conrart perceived from the side and behind were from the animals hauling their meal away from shore, similar to what he was witnessing in front of him. He then assumed that Wolfram was trudging behind, glaring holes at his back.

Upon reaching the cluster of trees, Conrart sat on the sand. Staring at the waves breaking the surface of the sea, he leisurely drank coconut juice from the bamboo container in his hand. Although he wasn't entirely riled by Wolfram's insistence and behavior, the brazen young man needed to learn to respect the feelings and privacy of others.

When he perceived an approaching figure from his peripheral vision, Conrart presumed it was his brother. "Another word about Julia," he started firmly, turning his head to the side, "and you're on your own. I swear—"

With lips left parted, he blinked at the wagging tail of a black stocky dog, which was sniffing at a scuttling tiny crab. He got to his feet quickly, dropping the liquid container to the sand, and glanced around.

"Where the…?" he muttered, sprinting in the direction he came from, looking to the right, straight ahead, then back to the right.

When he reached the spot where two sets of footprints started—or ended, depending on which direction one came from—he noticed that the shorter, narrower set was headed in the direction of the dense growth of trees. He then followed its trail.

Within minutes upon entering the forest, Wolfram's footprints were effaced by deeper grooves created by animals lugging carcasses.

When what seemed like an hour passed and there remained no sign of his brother, Conrart's fingers landed on the back of his head, clutching strands of tangled hair in exasperation. His eyes grew desperate in search of Wolfram.

"Wolfram, show yourself! You're not a child! Don't try my patience by acting like one! Wolfram!"

OooooooooO

Upon concluding that an intelligent person like Wolfram would neither go deep into an unfamiliar territory that was the forest, nor proceed to the old man's cave where he would easily be found since that was their original destination, Conrart decided to return to the shanty they had spent the night in. He braved the downpour, the high tide, and the deep cuts on the soles of his feet as he hastily traversed the rugged path that led to the cliff.

The sun appeared halfway down the horizon by the time Conrart reached the sunken area behind the cliff. Soaked to the skin, he embraced his shuddering form as he stepped inside the decrepit shack. As he stood there alone, whatever discomfort he felt distressed his mind more than his body. Was Wolfram stranded somewhere, starving, drenched, and freezing like him? Wolfram had yet to recuperate from his injuries and regain all the weight he had lost; hence Conrart couldn't help but fear his health would languish. After days of copious rainfall, there were also waterlogged fields and quicksand to contend with; the thought of the latter made Conrart shiver further.

The anger ignited by Wolfram's disappearance was extinguished long ago by the heavy rain. However, at that moment, he wished rage would lend itself again, to diminish the overwhelming helplessness which clouded his thinking.

While removing his sodden trousers, Conrart's self-reproach commenced: What made him clam up whenever Julia's demise was broached? Even if he burst into tears in front of Wolfram, he wouldn't lose an ounce of dignity because they were brothers, not strangers. Just this once, he should have satisfied Wolfram's curiosity even at the expense of his privacy. In fact, he should satisfy Wolfram—who was born a prince and had lived like prince until a week ago—in whichever way possible as recompense for enduring the vicissitudes of primeval lifestyle. He was, after all, responsible for bringing them in that island by sailing into a storm.

A crackling sound, followed by the creaking of the door, prompted Conrart to turn around. "Wolfram!" he exclaimed, eyes brimming with anticipation.

A tingling sensation crossed his thigh before disappointment could settle, and his gaze retained a considerable gleam, though for an entirely different reason. His hand landed instinctively on the hilt of his sword when a large animal passed by him and proceeded inside the shack. Under the early evening light casted through the portholes and numerous rifts of the timber roof, he gradually relaxed in recognition of the intruder, who seemed to be the same tiger that visited them last night.

He watched the tiger scratch the chests against the wall until the upper locked boxes toppled to the wet soil that was the cabin's floor. The feline's paws clawed both sides of a small chest, while its enormous girth and head started to jerk back and forth, as if having difficulty gnawing that particular box.

"May I help you?" Conrart mumbled when the tiger continued to struggle robustly in its objective for quite a while.

He took a step forward to see what the large feline was up to, when it suddenly turned around with the leather handle of the chest between sharp canines.

"Ah, I see you got what you came for," he remarked, his gaze following its leisurely movements. He allowed its tail to brush against him again as it walked out the door. "Well, feel free to visit anytime."

Wrinkling his brow in puzzlement, he remained where he was while the tiger crunched through a bed of leaves scattered in the sunken area. The oddity of the animal aroused his curiosity. And he couldn't be more grateful for the distraction which somehow cleared his mind.

Before long, his optimism was rekindled, and he considered the probability that Wolfram had actually proceeded to the old man's dwelling. He then rubbed his arms and hands vigorously, while jogging in place to warm himself up, preparing for another long journey.

Because there was also the possibility that Wolfram was on his way up there, and that they could miss each other due to unforeseen events, Conrart grabbed a charcoal from the hearth and wrote a brief message on all the intact portholes that were the cabin's windows.

OooooooooO

Hours ago, when he ran away to teach his older brother a lesson, Wolfram had resolved to make a straight line, but inadvertently veered from this direction: The enticing sound of water prompted him to turn left and right several times until he found a river, where he ended up washing his trousers, underwear, and the sack that was his top. While waiting for his garments to dry, he bathed in the river. On the way back, before he could he could reach the forest he had entered from, he noticed an abundance of fruit bearing trees on an elevated land and was reminded of his hunger. The dead animals, which were considerably less in that area—or perhaps had been cleared earlier by carnivorous survivors—didn't appeal to him. And because he was no good in fishing, he headed for what could only be his afternoon meal. Under the shade of broad leaves, he ate a round dozen pear-shaped yellow seedless fruits, which tasted like apples, and nodded off shortly after. Then, rumblings of thunder disrupted his dreamless nap. Upon noticing the ominous clouds in the bleak sky, he ran like mad—he had just cleaned himself and dried his clothes after all—in search for the nearest shelter, which then presented itself as a recessed spot along the rocky slope of a hill. By the time he perceived the sun's warmth again, the sky was in various shades of orange, informing him that dusk was approaching. Aware that they were facing west earlier, he followed the direction of the sun, the crown of which appeared halfway down the canopy of the forest, and descended the slope.

An hour or so into twilight, he had to summon flames on his palm as he made his way through lush vegetation. Before long, he was parting grass much taller than him, nearly setting the forest ablaze a couple of times as he barged through wild plants with an open fire.

Apparently, he had strayed from shore much farther than he intended because it felt as though another hour had passed and he still hadn't perceived any sign of the sea, not even the faintest sound of waves. This made him question the accuracy of his direction, as well as his discernment that guided it.

When no progress was evident after another long while, he could no longer deny that excessive pride—he preferred to think of it as 'pride' and not 'possessiveness'—had led him to another humbling predicament, as it often did in the past, and overconfidence in his keen memory had gotten himself lost.

As the night grew deep, whatever bitterness incited him to stray from Conrart was forgotten. The smugness he derived from the certainty that his aforementioned brother was anxiously searching for him was engulfed by the darkness as well. At that instant, regret began to take root. Was his brother lost as well? Oh, how he hoped Conrart had given up his search much earlier and made it safely to the hermit's abode.

Why did he have to be unreasonably _demanding_ today, of all days, when their relationship was still at a tender stage? he then chided himself. What foolishness possessed him for presuming their reconciliation would make Conrart forget Julia overnight, or at least diminish the influence of her memories? Now he was alone. How many excruciating days and nights—perhaps even weeks!—must he endure in solitude before he could feel the warm hands and strong arms around him again?

Wolfram was preparing himself for the worse when a deep, prolonged humming disrupted all concerns. He cocked his head to determine the direction of what sounded like a horn, which could only be blown by either of the two other people on that island with him. He then turned to the left where it was loudest. Shortly, between trunks of trees, he perceived a flickering of light and easily conceived a reason for its existence.

"Brother!" Wolfram charged through the tall grass and toward what he expected to be a search party consisting of Conrart and the old man. "Brother!"

Wolfram's grin stretched with every great stride that brought him closer to the source of illumination, which seemed to increase in height and area, as though whatever elevated land lay ahead was strewn with torches.

OooooooooO

Panting heavily, Conrart paused outside the tied twigs which happened to be the door of the old man's cave. His heart pounded, not only from swimming, running, and walking briskly for several hours, but mostly in anticipation of seeing Wolfram safe and sound. After a deep breath, he raised his knuckles to the door. His first knock was muffled by a deep drone. In a state of exhaustion as well as desperation, he ignored the only logical source of what sounded like a horn, and knocked repeatedly, exerting more force with every succeeding blow.

The incessant loud humming soon got to Conrart's nerves. How could Wolfram hear him with that horn blowing? he silently reasoned, kicking the tied twigs in frustration.

The door then swung open.

In the dark, only the glowing embers in the recessed portion of the cave's wall could be seen. As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, his heart and spirits sank: there was no old man to admonish him for entering without permission; there was no Wolfram sleeping safely on the coarse mat on the floor; there was no boar to snort a greeting. The dwelling was empty.

He then slumped onto one of the stools behind the waist length block of stone that was the hermit's dining table, and propped an elbow on its cold surface. In denial of the glaring truth, he continued to search the modest abode for any signs of Wolfram. He found two warped tin plates: the one on the table, beside a wooden box, contained several heads and bones of fishes, while the other plate on the ground contained morsels. Although it was apparent that the plates belonged to the old man and the boar respectively, he didn't dismiss the possibility that there weren't sufficient plates and Wolfram could have eaten from a leaf. However, after spending a night in that abode—while Wolfram was unconscious—he was aware that the man had a collection of dinnerware salvaged from shipwrecks.

The cicadas' high-pitched drone increased, while the deep cry of the horn weakened until it could no longer be perceived. Earlier, Conrart had presumed that the old man was behind the wind instrument, mainly because it was similar to the one they had heard on their first night on the island. His brow then furrowed, his lips pursed. On the other hand, what if Wolfram was indeed lost, had stumbled upon an animal horn, and discovered how to make it produce sounds? His eyes widened as the probability grew. If that was indeed the case, he had to follow the direction of the source next time it summoned for aid.

"All right then!" he said, slamming his fist enthusiastically on the stone table as he stood up. "Ouch!"

Wincing in pain, Conrart rubbed the side of his hand, which had collided with something sharp. He frowned at the culprit, which most likely was the chipped corner of the wooden box on the table. When he lifted the object on impulse, its lid parted from its attached lower half, which then inclined, releasing its contents to the stone floor.

The last thing he wanted was to enrage the old man. Thus, with a weary sigh, he fumbled for everything he had inadvertently dropped.

While gathering what he hoped was the last envelope, a familiar feeling came over him. He then grabbed the box and brought it outside the door where the stars' illumination rendered better visibility. As he had suspected, it was none other than the chest the tiger had taken from the cabin. The reddish-brown wood was riddled with grooves, claw marks that were vestige to its previous handling. Some scratches looked fresh, while others appeared to have faded in time, splinters abraded, smoothened by the weather.

Countless queries ran through his mind until he found himself bringing a wooden stool in front of the entrance. Because his intuition proved to be unreliable that day, he decided to wait until the horn blew again before heading in its direction. And under the circumstance, the only way to overcome his worries, which only weakened his judgment, was to satisfy his recent curiosity.

With the chest atop the sodden burlap that barely covered half the length of his thighs, he flipped the thick envelopes. The flaps were engraved with what could have been initials that blended with creases with age. To his astonishment, the center of each envelope was marked in Earth's numerical symbols. He quickly searched for envelope number one. Shortly, grubby yellowish stationery was in his hands. It no longer surprised him that the handwriting was in English.

On the alert for Wolfram's next call, Conrart read the contents:

_Carolina Whitman, _

_You remember leaving your late father's decrepit Newport mansion yesterday, or what you believe to be yesterday, with your recently widowed stepmother. You clearly recall tables, chairs, people, and everything within sight in the dining room of SS Talin tilt and slide back and forth as the aforementioned ship pitched against massive waves. You still burn with rage at the image of the captain, getting to his feet while indiscreetly kissing the widow, who was your companion, on the mouth. You recount glowering at the bald potbellied officer in command who went up the stage to allay the well-concealed fears of distinguished-looking guests. You clearly recall that in the middle of the captain's perfunctory assurance, an explosion several decks below—which later transpired to have originated from the boiler room—literally shook everything and everyone, snapping brittle threads of composure. Chaos ensued, but the nightmare of that stormy, tragic night was far from over. Piercing gunshots followed, and your companion's scream confirmed that the dead body on the stage was real. You recall running, stumbling into unfamiliar territories until you fell down a narrow staircase leading to the lower chamber. You remember screaming as disfigured bodies emerged and walked blindly amidst the scalding steam. _

_The rest isn't practical to list because you recall everything else leading to your concussion. I only mentioned the above as evidence that I am the person I claim to be: _you_._ _Unbelievable it may seem, your miserable past is engraved in my mind because you and I happen to be the same person. I'm aware that this has triggered your skepticism. Do consider, though, the unmistakable penmanship, which is proof that you have indeed written all these. _

_Although you recall almost everything in your past, when you awake, you'll have no recollection of this journal. Should you find it before anyone, keep it to yourself. The reason for this will transpire over the next entries which you yourself carefully arranged. Most likely—hopefully—you'll regain consciousness while you're on the boat with your children. Yes, you have two children… even if you appear like one yourself. The reason for this impossibility is simple: A great interlude in your life has been extracted from your heart and mind. Now, don't jump to conclusions, it isn't dementia you suffer from while writing this. As previously mentioned, the details within will explain everything. It's imperative to keep an open mind because the future of the child and the scarred boar in your company depend on it. _

"_Preposterous!" or something similar is your conclusion at the moment. Thus I say to you, my dear self, "Your entire life has always seemed such, Cara, and yet it always has been real."_

_The person you left behind, the beloved wife of Boris,_

_Cara_

"That explains the existence of SS Talin's items in the cabin," Conrart muttered as he searched for envelope number two. His mind was racing now; more questions poured in, but he held them in abeyance because he needed to learn as much as he could before the old man returned. _That also confirms we're stranded somewhere on Earth,_ he then surmised with certain relief.

Conrart couldn't have been more mistaken in his latter conclusion. The contents of the next letter made him realize this:

_My dearest Helge, _

_Every memory contained herein I bequeath to you. We departed the land of your birth when there were so many new things for you to learn that it's easy to forget. Thus I will remind you everything possible given my limited time and resources. You have my assurance, however, that only when you feel the end is drawing near and compelled to meet your father are you obliged to read this. _

_From the moment I was discovered along the shore of an undisclosed place I've named as the "sands of oblivion," I was apprised of the rules of the island. Your father referred to them as "facts and guidelines," which majority of the inhabitants had adhered to since birth. Incidentally, and I digress, very few arrived on this land by the same accidental means as I have; and while the means of escape for those born here may be as difficult, theirs will never be as painful as mine. Returning to the matter at hand, even though noncompliance isn't unprecedented, I firmly believe it's wise to respect these guidelines, if not deem them as rules, for the simple reason that this place is the intermediate ground between the living and those who have yet to be reborn. _

_Because of their peculiar nature, it's advisable to remain receptive to the following information:_

_Time progresses rapidly for those not native to this land. Every full moon seemed to equivalent to a year for a human like me, adding a quarter of an inch to my height and length of hair. And after I had turned into an adult, when my bones ceased to expand vertically, the rapid change in the reflection of my face continued to prove this theory. With the exception of your father—whose appearance remain unchanged—the other inhabitants aged as well, though much slower than I did. For this reason, should any living mortal end up here by either chance or challenge of destiny, encourage them to depart before their lifespan is exhausted, share with them the lore contained in the last envelope. _

_Although this place is for those who have yet to be reincarnated, not all the deceased pass through here: only those who have committed deplorable acts in their previous lives are sent here as punishment as well as for healing. Since they have no recollection of their crimes, regarding them with contempt will only be cruelty. In fact, they possess more compassion than those within the society I was born into. Perhaps this is because progress tends to corrupt mankind, whereas the absence of civilization preserves our nature. Ah, forgive me if I have digressed once more. Returning to the main subject, do know that the waiting period for the inhabitants' next incarnation is unreasonably long. For this reason, should you return here, do not hunt down any four-legged creatures, for if they perish by the hands of mankind, they will be reborn in their current form and endure the entire waiting process all over again. _

_Protect them—and keep a watchful eye yourself—against black snakes with white swirling eyes and the wolves on the isle across. They are said to be soulless descendants of a wizard, who is an accursed sibling of this island's guardian. Before the wizard's demise, he had passed on to his descendants a way to steal souls. Should these wretched creatures succeed in obtaining souls, whichever world they are reborn in will perish in darkness, for this evil wizard will be reincarnated once his army of mortals has grown in significant number. _

_Keep a vigilant eye as well during a new moon, for that is when the animals lose concept of everything except hunger._

_Before you were born, your father had always performed the ceremony for the safety passage of souls at midnight following a new moon. However, after he had passed on the privilege of a man's form to you, the ceremony had been moved to the night of a full moon. Should you return and choose to live the rest of your days in these sands of oblivion, consider it a filial duty to your father to carry out this particular task at its original time, which is most auspicious for such ritual. _

_Below you will find the procedure, and this is the part I request for your utmost attention and conformity…._

OooooooooO

What Wolfram saw as he approached the end of the forest made him slow down. Standing behind a thicket of shrubs, he stealthily observed what was happening on the prairie ahead. Torches illuminated the vast grassland and undulating hills beyond it. At the center of the plain was a massive stone, like a garden monolith, around twelve feet tall. Standing on top of the block of stone was the old man, his back toward Wolfram, and beside him was a tiger. There were boulders of descending height around the monolith, and Wolfram presumed the old man had used them to reach the top.

Countless animals encompassed the old man and his companion. They congregated in large groups and filled the grassland, as well as a sizeable area of the hills beyond. Wolfram wouldn't be surprised if it later transpired that that was the entire population of the island. In the old man's right hand was an object shaped like a shell, a conch most likely, that was as big as a person's head; while in his left was his crooked cane, which he was then pointing in various directions, as though motioning the animals to their respective places.

Wolfram then wondered where the old man found the patience and energy to erect wooden posts for the torches along the hills' slope. Or did he accomplish this over a long period? Did they hold meetings there on a regular basis? Opinions and questions were conceived rapidly, each pushed back by a new one.

He also marveled at the discipline the animals displayed: it appeared as though all the inhabitants, including the largest ones—giraffes, elephants, and dragons, to name a few—were sitting. Or at least standing still—from where he stood, it was difficult to be certain of the positions of the seemingly stationary creatures along the slopes. He then noticed that the animals immediately encircling the monolith were entirely devoid of movement, neither heads nor tails showed signs of life. And when he peered at them between the flames of torches, he could tell that they were lying on the ground. He then gasped as an explanation came to mind. Could those be the carcasses? As though to confirm his suspicions, he then noticed animals, with bodies between their teeth, heading toward the motionless inner circle of bodies. How mistaken he was to assume they had been gathering them for meal since morning! he then realized.

Because there was no other person who could answer his queries, Wolfram's gaze returned to the old man, who had turned to the side, poking the air with his cane still. Before long he was wondering how the massive stones—each strategically placed to provide access to the highest point—ended up in a prairie? Perhaps—

Wolfram froze when he found the old man staring in his direction. Then, ears perked and flapped; heads turned to the side, behind, and strained to look ahead; and, soon, innumerable pairs of eyes were fixed on him.

Should he duck and hide? But they had already seen him. Should he bow in salutation? A greeting wouldn't change the fact that he was an intruder. Should he run for his life? There would be no escaping animals of this number.

Wolfram had yet to decide on a course of action when a zebra—bigger than any horse he had seen in Shin Makoku—from the herd closest to him stood up, whining, and trotted toward him with ears erect. From the side, he noticed an elk's antlers heading toward him as well. Although both were herbivores, whatever consolation such awareness brought was effaced by the menacing growl and flashing canines of the dogs within proximity, followed by warnings of various other creatures.

More animals stood up and contributed to the noise. Wolfram slowly retreated from the bush, while summoning a fire dragon even though such weapon would be ineffective when greatly outnumbered. Then, they closed in on him. A deafening roar resounded through the land, deadening any other sound.

At that moment, Wolfram thought it was his end.

Just as Wolfram was about to hurl a fire dragon, the animals suddenly turned their backs on him. Befuddled as much as relieved, he watched them return to their previous places. Although the roar decreased in volume, it went on long enough for him to identify his savior: it seemed to be the tiger beside the old man because he could clearly see that its jaws were open widely, its head turning to either side, as though communicating to the others.

The old man then thrust the cane in his direction, presumably ordering him to stay put, and he nodded in acquiescence.

When what seemed to be the last of the dead bodies were settled in front of the monolith, the tiger roared again. Then, the old man began to speak indiscernible words. Was this the lingo of the island? Wolfram wondered as his gaze swept the audience. Adding to his astonishment, the old man's speech was responded to in the form of a whimper, whine, howl, and chuff, to name a few. Even though such communication was beyond his comprehension, the animals' voices lent a solemn ambience to the entire area.

The old man raised the conch to his lips. After several brief blows, the wolves, foxes, dogs, and other canines howled; elephants trumpeted; bears moaned; and the rest of the creatures followed. They seemed to be _singing_. Wolfram developed goose bumps in response to the melancholic melody the animals produced. How was this possible? he wondered, listening to the astonishing harmony the animals created. Shortly after, he found himself humming along as verses were repeated.

When the song's tempo and volume increased, a strong wind passed through the grassland, and the flames of the torches burned fitfully. Wolfram blinked when tiny particles carried by the wind went into his eyes.

Shortly after, only a gentle breeze lingered, congruous with the melody that had returned to its poignant tone. Wolfram looked straight ahead again. The sight before him took his breath away: rising from the bodies of the dead animals were luminous round objects, majority of which were white, while the others were blue, orange, and green. The white ones reminded him of the item Conrart had transported to Earth in a crystal vessel: Julia's soul. And he couldn't help but wonder if they were indeed souls.

More brilliant balls emerged and ascended slowly, coloring the prairie, then joined the stars in the sky. It was beautiful. And goose bumps resurfaced from Wolfram's arms.

Shortly, the conch sounded again, and it required much willpower for Wolfram to lower his eyes even though the last of the luminous object had already disappeared. The song had ended as well. And the old man began to speak in the island's language once more. After a brief speech, the old man bowed in all directions, while the tiger roared.

The animals began to disperse; many reclaimed the carcasses of their kind before leaving. Some passed by Wolfram and casted gleaming eyes in his direction. For a moment he was certain they were crying, but quickly dismissed the silly notion.

Because he perceived no hostility, he deemed it safe to approach the old man. By the time he reached the monolith, the old man was already on the ground, sitting with his back against a boulder. The tiger was gone. The boar with a missing ear and deep scar on the face was the old man's sole companion.

Wolfram squatted in front of the old man. The boar snorted and squealed its greeting. "Have you seen my brother?" he asked, elbowing the snout of the boar nuzzling his arm.

The old man glared at Wolfram, but said nothing. It was then that Wolfram noticed the pronounced rise and fall of the chest underneath the frock.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you must be exhausted after all that," Wolfram said, offering an apologetic smile, while pushing the robust body of the boar who seemed intent on pressing its thick flesh against any part of his body. "Incidentally, what exactly was that? I've never seen anything like it. That was—"

"If I answer your question, will you disappear from my sight?" asked the old man.

Wolfram nodded eagerly.

"He's waiting outside my cave as we speak."

It took a while for Wolfram to figure out whom the bearded old man was referring to. "Oh, him!" he exclaimed. "Right, right, Conrart! Whew! I'm relieved to learn he's safe then. Did he mention if he was going to wait for me there or—"

A deep grumble interrupted Wolfram. _The old man's as grumpy as ever_, he said to himself, though took no offense. After what he had witnessed, he had to admit that the old man had become interesting and less unpleasant in his eyes.

Wolfram had no idea where they were and how to get to the old man's home. Because he was both eager to return to Conrart's side and learn more about what seemed to be the island's ceremony for the dead, he then conceived a way to kill two birds with one stone:

"Since we're headed in the same direction, may I give you a lift?" When the old man simply stared at him through half-lidded eyes, Wolfram patted his shoulders. "You can ride on my back. I assure you I'm stronger than I appear. I won't drop you—" He paused, grimacing at the viscous substance along his arm and foot, both of which the boar had nuzzled. "Well, that's only possible if your boar ceases nudging me."

It took a good deal of convincing before the old man accepted the offer.

The old man was heavier than what Wolfram expected old bones to weigh. The stiff beard chafed against his upper back and nape. The conch in the old man's hand dug into his collarbone occasionally. The sandals made of husk ground against his thighs mercilessly. And every question he asked was interrupted by the cane's slap on his arm. Despite all these, however, Wolfram had no regrets. In fact, he felt lighthearted. There was always tomorrow, when the old man had rested and wouldn't be as stingy with answers. More importantly, he would be reunited with his special someone at the end of that backbreaking journey.

OooooooooO

_Should you return here and find yourself unable to remain, you have my word that my love for you will not diminish. Even if you choose to forget like I did, memories of our glorious past will live through your father._

With shaky fingers, Conrart folded the fiftieth and last letter, and tucked it inside the envelope. He was trembling, not only from the cold, but in reaction to everything he had read as well. Although he preferred not to believe, he also questioned what the woman named Carolina Whitman had to gain by exerting effort into fabricating such stories.

After returning the chest and stool inside the old man's abode, he stood outside the door. The secrets revealed reverberated in his mind. Should he wait for the old man, demand for another means of escape? He didn't hear the horn again. But it didn't matter anymore because he was quite certain now it wasn't Wolfram.

_Where are you, Wolfram?_

The sole consolation he found within the letters was that, with the exception of a new moon, the animals in the island were forbidden to prey on people. Intimidation was the most they were allowed.

"Brother!"

Conrart turned to the side. He felt his cheeks stretch widely at the person beaming at him. There was his beloved brother, thin as ever, but looking strong and happy with the old man on his back and a boar walking beside him. He then rushed toward the small group.

"Let me help—" Conrart leaned back, raising an arm to shield himself from the cane swung at him.

"Don't touch me," the man said in a gruff tone, "you nosey nobody."

If everything he had read was indeed the truth, then it hardly surprised Conrart if the old man was aware he had read Carolina's letters: the animals had eyes and ears, and the old man communicated with them regularly.

"Put me down," the old man demanded, removing Wolfram's hands from his legs, and then lowered his feet to the ground.

Wolfram rolled his eyes at the old man who shuffled away from them. He waved at the snorting boar, then straightened his back and was almost certain he heard a few bones crack. Conrart simply stared at him with a wide smile. Thus he grew flustered and concealed it by mumbling, "Why, that ingrate didn't even offer us lodging for the night after…" His voice trailed off when Conrart stepped in front of him and cupped his face.

"I was so afraid I'd never see this face again," Conrart said quietly, wiping the perspiration cresting on Wolfram's brow.

Wolfram averted his eyes, avoiding the affectionate gaze. "I... forgive me," he said, "for demanding more than I deserved earlier."

Conrart tilted up the proud chin, and continued to smile into the emerald eyes. "We were both unreasonable, forcing each other to reconcile with our own expectations."

Wolfram glanced at his brother coyly. "You're no longer upset then?"

Conrart watched the small teeth nibble at the rosy lower lip, while thick blond lashes fluttered until it stopped halfway down the wide innocent green eyes. Wolfram looked so shy. And it was the most adorable thing he had seen in decades that he couldn't help but chuckle in delight. "I can never be upset with you for long," he replied, embracing the slender form tightly. He then buried his nose into the fine blond hair, inhaling his brother's scent.

Wolfram's heart thumped wildly, and he grew concerned that Conrart would notice. "You ignored me for decades," the former reminded evenly, pushing the firm pectorals against his chest.

Conrart chuckled and pulled away. "Sorry, it slipped my mind that my clothes are still wet."

_Huh? _Wolfram mouthed silently. _Ah! Oh…_ His gaze then lingered on the damp burlap top. "How did you get wet?" he asked out loud. "It stopped raining hours ago."

"After searching in the forest, I checked the cabin near the cliff. It was high tide then. When I didn't find you there, I had to swim again to get here."

"Didn't the old man offer you a change of clothing?"

"He wasn't around when I got here."

Wolfram frowned. "Then how did he know you were here?"

Instead of the offering an explanation, which could lead to a revelation of everything he had read, Conrart shrugged. "We can ask him in the morning."

Wolfram's eyes widened. "I know!" he said excitedly. "Some animal must have seen you. He communicates with them. I saw him perform a ritual earlier, and I'm certain those were souls leaving dead bodies. _Souls_, Brother."

Carolina had written that the ceremony for the safety passage of souls was performed at midnight following a new moon. Was what he read true then? Conrart felt his heart sink. Concerned that his brother would notice, he placed an arm around him. "Let's look for our shelter for the night. You can tell me everything on the way."

"The cave we spent the first night in is nearby," Wolfram suggested quickly, eager to share what he had witnessed. "As I was saying, after I ran and got myself lost, I heard a…"

OooooooooO

As soon as they had built a fire in the cave, Wolfram cradled his head along the crook of Conrart's arm.

"Earlier you said I ignored you for decades," Conrart said quietly, blinking his weary eyes. "That doesn't mean, however, that I was angry with you all those years. You wanted nothing to do with me then. Thus I respected your request. When I began to miss you so much, I pretended that our past was nothing more than a pleasant dream, and the pain wasn't as unbearable," he ended, pausing every so often to kiss the top of Wolfram's head, his brow, and the tip of his upturned nose.

Wolfram had much to say about that subject, but after learning that his brother hadn't had any decent meal and sleep since the day began, he decided it could wait. He then slipped an arm around Conrart's back, and snuggled closer.

Content with Wolfram's silent response, Conrart smiled and closed his eyes.

OooooooooO

More than an hour had passed since Conrart had grown silent, presumably fast asleep from exhaustion. Wolfram, however, lay awake, staring at his aforementioned companion.

Wolfram inched himself up, carefully so as not to rouse Conrart, until their faces were at the same level. He gazed at the wide lips, the lips that gave him a taste of his first real kiss on the morning they ended on the island. Then again, he couldn't consider it real, for it seemed as though Conrart had no recollection of it. Moreover, back then, when an unconscious Conrart grabbed him all of a sudden, he didn't get to savor the feeling.

Now he wanted to taste again. This time, he also intended for Conrart to know it was him.

Conrart's confession reverberated in his mind, providing him with the confidence to lean closer until he felt the steady breath fanning his face. His brother had never stopped loving him, he assured himself as he inclined his head to the side. He then placed a brief kiss on the wide lips. He soon found himself torn between going further—though inexperienced, he had read enough books to know how it was done—and waking his brother up; although the latter option would probably result in disappointment, a kiss couldn't be considered real if it wasn't mutual.

"Brother," Wolfram whispered, kissing the sleeping man briefly once more. "Brother," he repeated, pressing their lips together a few seconds longer.

When there was no movement behind the closed lids, Wolfram took a deep breath, and tugged at the lower lip gently, repeatedly, as though tasting a soft fruit. Although it pleased him that it was much easier than he had anticipated, he found neither intense satisfaction nor any tingling sensation lovers spoke of. He then shifted to the upper lip, nibbled in the same manner, and then slipped his tongue to tease the inner moist flesh.

The excitement was missing still.

After a while, he lifted his head and sighed deeply. "Brother, wake up," he mumbled, running his forefinger along the thick brown eyelashes. "_Brother_…"

Another sigh escaped him when Conrart remained asleep. He then lay down, placing his head on his brother's shoulder. He planted noisy kisses on the side of the slender neck. With one last sigh, one of resignation this time, he raised a leg over the cold, bare thighs and embraced the motionless form tightly.

"I never stopped loving you, too, Brother."

_Is that the kind of love you seek, Wolfram?_ Conrart questioned silently.

OooooooooO

TBC


End file.
